


Hold Me Till The Stars Dim

by ur_the_puppy



Series: Fallen [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fluff, Grounder Clarke Griffin, Kinda?, Wolf Companions, basically Clarke is badass, lil angst, sarcastic lexa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 86,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8353300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ur_the_puppy/pseuds/ur_the_puppy
Summary: After Costia's tragic death, Lexa Woods still hasn't recovered. It has been months now, and though her friend's have let Lexa do what she wants for most of that time, they can't let her ignore them any more. The answer? A camping trip.And though seemingly innocent, things go bad. Violently bad. Fast.ora slightly different take on grounder clarke





	1. If Only I Could See You

**Author's Note:**

> So i've been writing this other fic which is just pretty much angst and needed a break. ive been having this idea for a while, and so ive finally gotten my gay ass to write it. I hope you guys enjoy it, and if you do feel free to leave a comment, kudos and all that jazz.
> 
> also just a warning for mentions of suicide, there isn't a big focus on it, but if you are sensitive please take care

She didn't know why she had agreed to come here. Lexa, her long brunette curls elegantly framing her face, leaned back into her camp chair with a sigh. Though she knows in the back of her head why she really came here, why she was out camping in the middle of the woods when she'd much rather be cozied up at home with a nice book. Her lips twitched upwards at the thought. Maybe she'd run a bath, light a variety of candles and let herself be drowned into another fantasy world where everything was perfect. Her heart clenched. Sinister familiar thoughts crept in through her mind, preparing to take their usual place. At this point Lexa would give anything to live in another world, maybe even an alternate universe if such a thing a thing existed. Just as long as it wasn't here, where innocent people die and leave the rest to suffer the consequences.

Where the one person who she knew she had loved had died.

Where Costia had been so brutally ripped away from her.

Tears threatened to streak down her cheeks, only Lexa's stubbornness keeping them at bay. She was glad that the growing darkness hid her misery; her friend's much too busy with their own antics to pay too much attention to her. Except for her older sister Anya, who was staring at her with concerned hazel eyes. Lexa threw a glare in her direction, not wanting to deal with another rant from her sibling. The dirty blonde huffed, shaking her head and falling back into her camp chair. Happy that she had bested her, Lexa finally got out of her seat, wandering over to her brother who was setting up the barbie.

"How's the BBQ going?" she asked, sneaking a glance over his broad shoulder and spotting a packet of raw lamb chops. Her stomach grumbled, earning an amused snort from him.

"Hungry are we?" he teased, earning a light shove from Lexa.

" _Shof op Linkon_ ," Lexa smiled in response, accidently slipping into her native tongue. She found that being around Lincoln always tended to bring it out of her, Anya included. Originally Lexa had been born in a small rural area called TonDC, and though she had grown and loved the town she had called home, her heart yearned for something bigger. The language, Trigedasleng, seemed to be only used around TonDC and the area surrounding it, dubbed as Polis. Now she mainly used English, but every now and again she would use her home language. "Are you going to be done soon?"

"Lexa it's not even seven." Lincoln deadpanned. Lexa looked at him blankly.

"And?"

"Urgh, you are impossible," Lincoln groaned, stomping over to his car to grab some more supplies. But after only a couple of steps in he was laughing, turning back around with a grin. Lexa scoffed, though she couldn't fight the smile off her face. When she didn't reply, Lincoln's laughter became louder as he waltzed over to his car, grabbing the attention of Octavia, one of Lexa's good friends.

"What's his deal?" she questioned, though her eyes still glinted with amusement. Lexa shrugged, seemingly to have lost the energy to be any more social. She should try harder Lexa thought bitterly. Her friends had been trying so hard, why wasn't she? Costia would've wanted her to try hard. Lexa's face fell instantly, and Octavia took a step closer reaching out her hand. But Lexa flinched the moment the hand was anywhere near her and she saw Octavia instantly snatch her hand back, her face apologetic. "Sorry."

"It's fine." Lexa mumbled. She blinked a couple times, forcing a smile. "You bring the drinks?"

"Raven was in charge of that." Octavia answered, noticing how Lexa's shoulders slumped. "She should be here any minute though," she supplied, hoping to make Lexa feel better. But as expected Lexa just nodded that same stiff nod that they had all been at the receiving end of since the accident. The nod meaning that her walls were up, and there was no chance in hell to get a genuine reaction out of her until someone brought them down. Inwardly sighing, Octavia went back to setting up her tent. Lexa left her presence leave soon after.

She knew that her friends meant well. Ever since the car accident she had shrunk into herself, blocking out the world and living in her own. It was easier than dealing with reality, with the truth. It was so much easier to hide. She hasn’t gone out in so long, Lexa actually found herself struggling to remember the last time. It would have been before the accident, which was four months ago now.

Four months.

Her heart stumbled. Her stomach churned uneasily, her appetite suddenly gone. She stared upwards, spotting the last of light slip from the sky, glistening stars replacing the gaps. With a sigh she headed over to her chair, only to stop mid-step when she saw her older sister Anya was still sitting by. She was scrolling on her phone mindlessly, but she knew that the second she sat down she’d want to talk.

And Lexa did not want that.

Adjusting her feet she instead wandered over to the woods, leaving the clearing of where they were setting up camp. She didn’t stray far though, not wanting to getting lost. Sure, she was a relatively ‘sporty’ person and she loved nature, just the scent of pine easing her nerves, but she hated being lost. She already felt it inside of her; she didn’t need more of it. Reaching into her pocket Lexa pulled out her phone, plugging in her headphones and popping them into her ears. She turned her music up till the bass had completely engulfed her, blocking out any signs of the outside. She sighed in content, letting the smells of nature flood her nose. She had to admit, being here, it did make her slightly happy. Or calm she supposed. Lexa strolled through the trees, the snapping of twigs and chirping’s of birds unknown to her as the music in her ears hid them. Her red heart still stung as the old wounds still somehow rang fresh, each pulse reminding Lexa of the past.

That was the danger of being on her own.

Her mind wasn’t the kindest of souls.

Memories of that night, the night that every thing went wrong emerged in her head. She remembers hearing the ring at the door, excitement buzzing through her at the idea of Costia coming back home early. She hadn’t told her, but she certainly was complaining. But as sprinted to the front of the house, stumbling to open the door with no care of how ridiculous she looked, she didn’t see Costia. She saw two police officers, their faces filled with sorrow.

And in that moment Lexa had instantly known.

Before they had even said a word she was whispering no over and over, denial thick on her tongue. Soon Anya was storming down the stairs from the commotion, and after spotting the police officers staring helplessly at Lexa, her sister rambling and frozen in shock, she quickly put two and two together.

Lexa still feels like it was yesterday. She didn’t notice she had been crying until a tear fell onto her phone screen, the water splashing on the thin glass. She wiped her nose with her sleeve, accidentally ripping one of her earphones out. Lexa growled at herself, her ear slightly stinging. With an irritated huff she went to put it back in, when she heard the weirdest sound of a twig snapping. Even weirder, Lexa hadn’t been moving.

Which meant someone was watching her.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose, her eyes jumping around the trees, scanning for any sign of danger. But she saw none, not even the slightest hint of movement.

“You’re just hearing things…” Lexa mumbled to herself, though a part of her recoiled at the statement. Shaking her head she headed back to camp, that sense of someone, or some _thing_ never quite going away.

-

Hours later, and Lexa had completely forgot about the moment in the forest. All her friend’s had arrived, though one of her less closer friend’s, Jasper, had bailed to hang with his girlfriend. He’d texted Monty his best mate who actually did come out, and the boy had been kind about letting her know, the understanding deep in his eyes as her stomach dropped at the word of ‘girlfriend’. But now, for a few fleeting moments, she was happy. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but for the last four months she had been, and though she was trying to cut back she still felt the familiar buzz in her mind, her smile lazy. Bellamy, Octavia’s brother, was joking about something. The group, consisting of her sister Anya, Lincoln, Octavia, Raven and the latest edition of the gang Echo, were all laughing along to his words. A bonfire burned in the centre, the group forming a ring of cheap camp chairs around it, the crackling embers hiding Bellamy’s face in the glow. Lexa was surprised to find even herself cracking a smile, the boy usually putting Lexa off.

The group seemed to be happily surprised too.

“So,” Octavia interrupted, clapping her hands together excitedly. “Who’s ready for our last few weeks till we’re out of this shithole?”

“If by shithole you mean our education that in most cases controls our future,” Raven slurred. “Then yes. I am _very_ excited.”

Amused chuckles erupted from the group, mostly at how obviously drunk Raven was getting. “You had enough kid?” Anya smirked, earning an offended pout from Raven. It was adorable.

“Please, I could go on for days,” Raven drawled, her words followed closely by a hiccup. Anya’s smirk widened. With a laugh, she reached forward and plucked the beer out of the Latina’s hands.

“Alright powerhouse, whatever you say.”

Raven nodded back at her lazily, her head lolling to the side slightly. “I’m hungry.”

“Seriously?” Lincoln groaned. “I made you _two_ extra burgers.” He scowled, though Lexa could tell it was meant playfully. Raven waved her hand at him.

“Psh, child’s play. You got any left overs from the barbie?”

“You _ate_ the leftovers Raven.” Octavia deadpanned. Hilariously, she looked legitimately stunned.

“What? No, I was _sure_ that I’d left some for later-“

“Raven I’m pretty sure you could eat the planet and still be up for seconds.” Lincoln scoffed. He shook his head with a sigh and Lexa smirked at how much of a softy he was. “But, I can quickly fry something up for you if you’re desperate.”

Raven’s face lit up brighter than the campfire in front of them. “Yes! Oh I love you so much Lincoln.” She grinned, attempting to get up from her chair but ultimately swaying so much that she fell right back down, Octavia catching her. The girl swatted her friend away, Octavia raising her hands in surrender.

“Hey, I was just helping you out leaning Tower of Pisa.” She defended, earning a glare from Raven.

“I’m totally _fine._ ”

Bellamy cackled at that. “You’re hilarious Raven.”

“Fuck you Blake. Both of you.” The siblings grinned at her, Raven finally getting out of her chair and wobbling over to Lincoln, who caught her as she quite literally fell into his arms. Shocking Octavia, her grin morphed into a scowl as she saw Raven _let_ Lincoln help her walk over to the food.

“Hey!” Octavia hissed. “Why does _he_ get to carry you?”

“Because _he_ has a big muscly-muscles.” Raven hummed. Lincoln sighed, Raven turning her head back just to wink at her best friend.

“I work out.” Octavia grumbled, sitting back down.

Bellamy snickered next to her, poking her in the arm. “Yeah but do you have quote unquote, muscly-muscles?”

“Well do you have a sex life?” Octavia countered, her brother’s face falling.

“Low blow.” He huffed, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed.

“Is that a quote from Murphy?” Octavia grinned mischievously, and she knew she had done it when Bellamy gasped, turning on her with a face of shock and anger.

“O what the fuck!” he snapped, but Octavia was too busy cackling to give him notice. That is, until Bellamy seemed to have had enough, because a moment later they were both rolling on the ground. Anya, Echo and Lexa all looked to each other amused, not really expecting anything less.

“It’s good to know some things haven’t changed.” Anya mused, adjusting her chair so she wouldn’t accidently be caught in the brawl. Lexa chuckled.

“I’m more surprised it took this long.”

“It seems that people mature with age.” Echo added. Both Anya and Lexa raised a brow at her. “Well, maybe not as much for them as currently I think… yep Bellamy is squeezing tomato sauce on her face.”

All heads swiveled to the pair, not able to hide their giggles at the sight of a red-sauced Octavia, looking like she was on the brink of murder. Bellamy, seeming to realise his mistake, dropped the bottle.

“O…” he said slowly, watching as his sister crawled up to her feet, her eyes dead set on him. He tried to hide his laugh, ending up in him snorting. “O come on-“

They were back in a brawl again, Octavia charging at him with a battle cry – and the ketchup bottle.

Lexa laughed again, the sound making her feel lighter than she had in a long time. Anya upon hearing Lexa’s laugh, smiled fondly at her, glad that the trip was seeming to work out. Taking a swig of her beer she stood up, Lexa looking at her quizzically.

“Need to piss.”

“So eloquently put Ann.” Lexa teased, Anya just giving her the finger in retaliation. Her sister walking off Lexa let herself lean back in her chair, closing her eyes for a few moments. The sounds of the fire simmering sent waves of calm through her, Lexa fluttering open her eyes as she let her head rest back, giving her a perfect view of the sky. Out of the city, the stars were clear here, and it took a surprising amount of effort to keep in her gasp. The distant balls of fire glimmered from above, the sight so stunningly beautiful she couldn’t stop the smile tug at her lips, her eyes catching the nearly full moon beaming down on her. It was absolutely gorgeous, and her heart ached at the idea that Costia would never get to see this. That she’d never get to see the stars so bright from this far out, and Lexa knew just how much the girl loved the stars. Loved, not loves. Lexa blinked, refusing to let herself be seen as weak in front of her friends, when her head suddenly snapped up.

“Lexa?” Echo questioned, startled from the sudden change in Lexa’s position. But Lexa didn’t hear her, her ears straining for another sound. Her eyes burned as she tried to see through the dark.

She had heard something, some _one_ moving out there.

Remembering her moment from before unease crept into her throat, her grip tightening on the arm rests of the chair. Distantly she heard her name being called, but she was more concerned with what was out there, her determined gaze never leaving the woods behind her. But again, there wasn’t a beat of movement, just the calm swaying of the leaves in the breeze. Lexa frowned, glancing upwards to see storm clouds making their way over. Finally someone seemed to gain her attention when a hand gripped her shoulder.

“Lex,” Anya said, instantly retracting hand as Lexa flinched, her shoulder shying away from Anya’s touch like ice. “Sorry. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Lexa mumbled. She looked back out to the woods, making Anya frown.

“Lex I know it’s not nothing. Why do you keep looking out?”

Biting her lip, Lexa decided there was no point in lying. “I thought… I thought I saw something.”

“Out there?” Anya gestured, pointing to the trees. Lexa nodded. “Lex there’s no one out there. Just us, I checked before we came. No one else is here.”

“But I heard something I swear. There’s something-“

“Lexa.” Anya interjected, crouching down so she was near eye-level. She restrained from touching her. “There’s nothing there. I promise.”

Lexa’s eyes turned almost pleading. “Anya I know what I saw.”

“Well, then what did you see?”

“I saw…” Lexa paused when she realised she hadn’t actually _seen_ anything. Only heard the occasional out of place sound and that undeniable feeling that she was being watched. “I didn’t really _see_ anything but I heard-“

“Lex come on,” Anya sighed. “You’re just being paranoid. You’re trying to make excuses to get out of here and run off to your own little world.”

Lexa’s gaze hardened. “I’m not lying Anya. I’m being serious.”

“Lexa please-“

“You know what? I think I need to take a piss too. I’ll be right back.” Lexa snapped, springing out of her chair and striding away. Anya hung her head. How did it always feel like she would take one step forward and three steps back with her? Echo saw the interaction, watching the siblings curiously.

“You two alright?” Echo asked, gesturing between her and a clearly upset Lexa. Anya sighed.

“I hope so.”

 

Lexa couldn’t believe her sister had reacted like that. Making it up? Why would she even _do_ that? It was ridiculous Lexa sighed, shaking her head angrily. Thinking back on it, maybe once or twice she’d made up an excuse or two to escape the group but she _was_ actually having a relatively nice time, she wasn’t trying to get away it was her damn curiosity that was dragging her by her ankles. Lexa kicked at her feet, that unease from before not letting her stray far from the camp, instead choosing to just rest against a nearby tree. Her fingers played in her pocket; quickly checking her phone to find it was only ten o’clock. Knowing her friends and much how they were trying to ‘cheer’ Lexa up they would probably be up until the morning hours. Not that she didn’t really mind, it was more having to go back and face Anya. Though, it wasn’t too bad. Maybe she had overreacted just a tad bit, but how could she not have believed her? She’s her sister, doesn’t that call for some type of trust? Groaning she let her head fall against the tree with a dull thud, her brow soon furrowing at the lack of stars like before. Dark, swirling clouds now hid the lights in the sky, the moon just peeking through.

“That was quick.” Lexa mumbled to herself, though it felt off. With a frown she checked her phone again for the weather, seeing that there wasn’t meant to be any storms tonight. Well, she guesses it’s more on her for trusting the weather app. Just as Lexa got ready to head back to her friends her movements suddenly stopped, her entire body freezing.

There, deep in the forest, she could have sworn those were glowing yellow eyes.

They lagged a moment longer, seeming to pierce right into Lexa’s shivering soul, before disappearing back into the darkness. Lexa swallowed the lump in her throat. With tentative steps and half of her brain yelling at her to go back, Lexa followed where she had seen the eyes. Though at first her steps were shy they soon became rushed, some rational part of her seeping through as she bent down and grabbed a thick branch. Just in case. _The hell was she even doing?_

Eventually Lexa found herself further out from the camp, but looking back it was alarmingly close. If something actually _had_ been here, then they were dangerously near. Fear crawling up her spine she examined the area she had found, noticing the large rock that sat in front of her.

Perfect for cover. Ignoring the distant nagging in the back of her mind she crouched down, searching for any sign of what was here. She brushed her fingers over the dirt, her heart lodging itself in her throat when they ran over a dent in the earth. Stepping back, she examined it closer.

The moment she realised what it was she was sprinting like the devil himself was chasing her, the fire crackling up ahead the only indication of where to go. Her breathing ragged she burst through the trees, surprised and curious eyes staring back at her.

“Lex? What’s wrong?” Raven asked, a burger now in hand. Lexa’s eyes were wide with panic.

“In the cars, _now._ We need to go.” She breathed, frantically checking over her shoulder. She strained her ears to catch any hint of sound; any indication that what was there had finally decided to make its move. Everyone glanced to each other nervously, not quite knowing what to do. “Now!” Lexa snapped. “Move!”

“Lexa what the hell are you talking about?” Anya said, narrowing her eyes. Lexa ignored her, running to the barbeque she snatched all the remains of meat they had, clutching the packets tight to her chest as stumbled to back to edge of the clearing. Now everyone was starting to grow restless as Lexa’s absurd behavior, the group finally getting out of their seats and coming forward.

“Lexa what are you doing?” Bellamy questioned uneasily. His words not reaching her Lexa threw out the packs of meat, praying that it would be distraction enough. Her hands now stained in red she staggered to the fire, grabbing the near bucket of water they brought, and putting out the flames with a deafening hiss. “Hey!” Bellamy snapped, the fire being the last straw. He stormed over to her, grabbing her by the wrists and forcing her to look at him. A part of him felt bad as he knew how much Lexa hated touch, but this was going to far. “Lexa what the fuck are you doing?”

She was about to answer, roughly snatching her hands back to her sides when she heard the thing she was dreading to hear. A scream. Everyone froze but Lexa, who was madly checking over her friends. Her heart stopped. “Where’s Octavia?”

“Octavia!” Bellamy roared, blindly running where he had heard her scream.

“Bellamy no!” Lexa yelled, sprinting on after him. But they didn’t even get to the edge of the clearing before a wild looking Octavia burst through the trees, running right into Bellamy and sending the pair tumbling to the ground. But the brunette didn’t waste a second, already scrambling back to her feet.

“Everyone run!” she screamed, messily grabbing her brother by the arm and hauling him up. Blood dripped onto Bellamy’s sleeve.

“O you’re bleeding,” he breathed, as if he didn’t quite believe it. Octavia shook her head, not even bothering to hide the deep scar on her arm, blood leaking steadily from the gap in flesh.

“To the cars!” Lexa snapped, her words finally seeming to snap everyone from the daze. The teens dashed for the escape, some diving into tents to grab their car keys. Lexa ran to join them, but her footing hindered as for a second she could have sworn she saw something move in the trees. For some reason she stopped for a moment, her brow furrowing as she tried to catch what she saw. Anya spun around, seeing Lexa frozen still.

“Lexa!” Anya roared, bringing her younger sister’s panicked gaze to hers. “Hurry the fuck up-“

A snarl cut her off. The group stilled, most half way into their cars. But Lexa wasn’t.

Lexa was barely thirty metres away.

“Holy shit,” Anya breathed shakily. There, at the edge of the campsite, a large black panther stalked towards them. Blood dripped from its chin. For a heartbeat, it was like Lexa couldn’t hear a thing. As if she’d been sucked into a bubble, a pocket reality separate from everything else. On the outside it felt like time ran in slow-motion, distantly seeing her friend’s pile into their cars, Anya frantically shouting at her. But all Lexa saw was the panther, a walking embodiment of Death.

And in that moment, Lexa didn’t know whether she wanted to die or live.

It was like the panther knew this too.

The screams of her name grew louder, more voices joining in on the panic. But Lexa couldn’t move, her gaze deadlocked on those yellow eyes; those eyes that numbed the world around her. The panther growled menacingly, it’s jaw widening and revealing its gleaming fangs. But it wasn’t the sight of them that brought her out of her shock, or the desperate cries of her friends, but a voice that she had never heard before. She didn’t know if it came from her, in the deep abyss of her mind or if she was even going crazy. But she heard the voice anyway.

_Run._

Time sped up again, Lexa blinking rapidly. She staggered backwards, barely keeping herself on her feet as she spun around and stumbled for the cars.

And without her knowing, the stranger who was watching her released a breath of relief.

The panther snarled again, this time filled with the promise of death and pounced for Lexa. If she hadn’t of moved, she would be dead. But she had, so it’s razor sharp claws only caught her leg. Lexa screamed, the claws hooking into her flesh and pulling, carelessly dragging her body through the dirt.

“Lexa!” Anya belted, shuffling out of her car and running for her. Lincoln was instantly at her side; him pleading to the god’s themselves that he wouldn’t lose his family. But the panther kept pulling, dragging her back and back and back, Lexa only able to madly fling about. It had switched its claws for teeth, it’s jaw clamped on her left ankle. Though it gave the panther more strength, it also gave Lexa a free leg. Adrenaline fueling her she raised her knee, and with as much force as she could muster kicked the panther’s face. It released her with a roar, Lexa not letting her sight even touch the probably monstrous wound on her ankle. She scrambled to her feet, only to instantly fall over.

Her left leg was useless. Cursing heavily she dragged herself back to two legs, limping as fast as she could to Anya and Lincoln, who looked absolutely terrified. Whether it was at the panther or Lexa nearly being ripped to shreds she wouldn’t know. But Lexa whipped her head around and saw the predator readying itself, saw the flexing of its claws. Looking back, she saw her brother and sister weaponless - collateral. Lexa swallowed, her throat deathly dry. She let loose a slow breath and the moment she got close enough for her siblings to catch her, she shoved them back.

“Run!” she barked, their eyes wide with shock. She had about a second till the panther would strike again, but they were far away enough now. She gave them a watery smile. “ _Ai hod yu in.”_

“No!” Anya cried, tears freely running down her cheeks. But she couldn’t do anything, as Lincoln, his face empty, understood what Lexa was saying and pulled her back. Anya fought desperately in his grip, screaming and yelling as Lexa’s face contorted in pain, the panther’s teeth back on her already wounded leg. Lincoln locked eyes with Lexa for what he hoped to not be the last time. “I’m coming back for you. You just need to last a little longer.” He said, turning and hauling Anya away. Anya heard her sister’s screams, finally breaking free of Lincoln's hold and collapsing to the ground, her breathing ragged.

And as Anya looked up, she saw Lexa disappear into the trees.

Her screams the only reminder she was alive.

 

The moment she was out of the clearing the world around her seemed to become a blur. Twigs, loose branches and ragged rocks tore at her as the panther dragged her further and further into the forest. She tried to fight back, every now and again landing a kick to its face, but the moment she would be free and could scramble up to unstable feet it would lunged at her and she’d be back on the ground. Now completely lost, Lexa was beginning to entertain the idea of giving up. Though she knew that Lincoln and Anya would be coming after her hopefully with weapons or at least _something_ to give them a chance to fight back, her vision was starting to sway in and out, the blood loss catching up to her. It seemed only sheer stubbornness was keeping her conscious at this point, but she knew it could only last for so long.

Lexa thought for a moment, and decided she wouldn’t mind if tonight was her last.

She had fallen in love, been surrounded with friends that she’d never thought she’d get the luck to have, and had at least, for a while, been happy. She wasn’t suicidal by any means, but with Costia gone a part of her had left with her, leaving her hollow. She thought the feeling would leave, but it never did. She could never end herself, but if she were to die right now, she didn’t know if she had the will to fight it.

Despair held her hand, tugging her down.

Suddenly she wasn’t being pulled anymore, the jaw around her ankle releasing. For a second she lagged, considering what to do. Would it be worth it to run? She did, though her attempt was pathetic with her lack of strength. Lexa found her feet only to instantly crumple to the dirt, no power left in her body to carry her. Distantly, she felt a pain in her ankle throb, steadily growing worse with each passing second. Grunting she rolled onto her back, lifting her head to spot the panther watching her.

It was almost like it was grinning at her.

A sobbed worked its way up her throat as it took slow paces towards her, but she swallowed them down, a primal part of her refusing to go without a fight. She tried to clench her fists, surprised to find she struggled with even that. Doubt slithered into her bones. Would it be worth it to fight, or should she just let it be over with? Save the pain that she would inevitably be faced with?

“Do it,” Lexa breathed shakily, watching as is it slinked over her, its face just centimeters above her own. Her own blood dripped onto her cheek. Lexa grinned weakly. “I dare you.” The panther snarled, baring its teeth. Lexa wasn’t fazed though, her eyes holding an eerie calm. This seemed to enrage the animal, as fury lit up in its yellow eyes, burning brighter than the stars. Lexa, the edges of her vision blurring chuckled.

The panther finally struck, and Lexa shut her eyes, preparing for the pain.

Except, it never came.

And instead she heard a fatal cry erupt from the panther, and the feeling of its limp body collapsing on top of her. Before she could even register this the panther was shoved off her, and hesitantly Lexa cracked open an eye.

She swore it was an angel standing over her.

The angel was blonde, her braided hair framing her face perfectly. But it wasn’t the ragged leather clothes she took notice of, or the dirt smothering her head to toe; it was her eyes. Her shining blue eyes that looked down at her curiously. Briefly checking beside her to see the panther with a dagger through its head, green met that blue, and Lexa felt like she could gaze into them forever. And she would have, except a moment later darkness clouded her vision, and the world was gone.

-

Lexa woke up with a hiss, what she thinks to be her ankle flaring in immense pain. She tried to pull herself up and find out why her foot was hurting so bad when a hand was at her chest, pushing her back down. At that, her eyes flew open. Her vision seeming to come back into focus, she saw a stranger. A stranger crouched over her leg, rubbing something into her the wound. Panic strangled her, and Lexa instantly scrambled backwards until her back was slammed right up against a wall. Wait a wall? Where was she? Her eyes jumped around wherever she was, finding herself to be in a cave. But, it was more than that Lexa noticed. It was a home. A bed of furs was rolled out in the far back, a gentle fire flickering in the centre of the large space, soft light spilling into the cave, illuminating it from the darkness of the night outside. Looking around more she saw rows of weapons leaning against the back cave wall, what looked to be hand-made spears, clubs, daggers and even a bow with a tub arrows sitting next to it. The walls themselves were decorated in carvings, the drawings surprisingly beautiful. At the mouth of the cave another fire was going, this one larger with meat roasting over it.

Lexa looked over to the stranger, the memories of last night finally hitting her. The camp, the panther, the attack and…

“Am I dead?” Lexa whispered. Was this heaven? Hell? Some kind of limbo for in-between? The blonde, who seemed to not be an angel, shook her head. Her nose scrunched slightly, as if she were deep in thought.

“Home.” She finally said, pointing around the cave. Her eyes pierced into Lexa’s with a terrifying intensity. “Safe.”

Lexa shook her head in confusion. “What happened? I was… there was that panther and I was _sure_ I was about to die. But then, I didn’t, it…” she looked up to the woman in front of her, her eyes filled with something akin to wonder. “You saved me.” Lexa breathed. The woman seemed to struggle to understand her than, nodding her head after a while. Again, she gestured around the cave.

“Safe.” She repeated. Lexa nodded dumbly, a part of her in shock that this stranger had risked her life for her, actually _killed_ a panther that was easily twice her size. Frowning, Lexa glanced around the girl’s home once more.

“What are you doing here?” she questioned. The blonde stiffened, tearing her gaze away and reaching behind her, bringing out a stone bowl and mashing something up in it. Lexa’s frown deepened. “Can you… can you understand me?” She looked up to her then, catching her eye for second before going back to her task. She nodded. But Lexa saw the hesitance in her. “How much?” she questioned further. The woman’s hand froze, but her gaze stayed downcast.

“Most.” She said quietly. Lexa leaned back against the wall she was sitting up against, her head spinning. She had too many questions, most revolving around the mysterious blonde in front of her who seemed to have a basic grasp of English, and lived in a cave with the well above the skills of the average teenage girl. Lexa watched as the blonde continued mashing something up in the stone bowl, and she began to notice the clothing of the girl. It was mostly dark leather, but it looked almost handmade, the cuffs of her jacket decorated in black animal fur. Looking down she saw her boots were the same, her pants baggy and bulky. A strap hung tightly over her chest, curving down her shoulder. On the strap was a dagger, and if Lexa looked closely she could see the outline of another dagger in her boot as well. Though one thing looked out of place with her outfit, and that was the watch that sat snugly on her wrist.

She looked wild, nothing like the modern world.

It was like going back in time. But just as Lexa was about to comment on it, the woman put whatever she had been grounding up into the torn flesh on her leg, and Lexa yelped.

“Fuck!” Lexa hissed, squeezing her eyes tight. She scowled at the blonde, who was staring at her confused. “Seriously? No warning?” Lexa growled. The blonde pointed to the paste that was on her hand.

“Heal.” she said simply. Lexa rolled her eyes.

“I’d bloody hope so.” She grumbled, relaxing slightly and letting go of her death grip on her thigh. Except a moment later she tensed up, eyeing the blonde warily. “Who are you?”

The blonde tensed as well. Lexa’s gaze hardened. “This will heal.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.” Lexa muttered low. The stranger instantly picked up on the hostility, her own soft eyes losing their warmth.

“Do you want to die?” she asked, and Lexa’s stomach dropped. Their iron gazes held.

“No.”

“Then let me heal.” She glared. Lexa growled under her breath, but she knew that this stranger was her only chance at getting back home. Reluctantly, she removed her hands completely, giving it as a cue that the blonde was safe to do what she wanted. The stranger nodded, and went back to work on Lexa’s ankle. But the pain was the same and Lexa struggled not to constantly swear, every time the paste that girl had made touching her wound making Lexa squirm. She was biting her lip so hard she was sure it was going to bleed. Strangely, it seemed the blonde noticed this, because a moment later she was getting up and quickly strolling to the other end of the cave. She then came back sitting down, and handed Lexa a stick. Lexa raised a brow. Rolling her eyes the blonde made a biting action with the stick just in front of her mouth. She then offered it to her again.

Realising she was actually trying to help her out Lexa sheepishly took the stick and put it in her mouth. Lexa saw the blonde almost smile from accepting her offer, before going to put the last of the ointment on her leg. This time, Lexa bit hard into the stick, and was exceedingly grateful it was there as this seemed to be much worse than the last. With a muffled ‘fucking hell’ the blonde finally finished, reaching to her side and bringing out a roll of cloth. Carefully, she wrapped it around Lexa’s leg, making sure it was tight enough. When she was done, she sat on her knees, looking down at her work with a proud grin. Nodding to herself, the girl got up and headed over to the larger fire with the meat. With the immediate pain gone, only now a dull throbbing, Lexa found herself actually relaxing. She turned her head to the blonde, watching her as she tended to the food, seeing if it was ready.

“Who are you?” Lexa asked again, though her voice was much softer than last time. The stranger stiffened slightly, but noticing the change in tone she actually lifted her head, staring at the brunette.

“No one.” She answered, and Lexa swore something like sadness flickered in her eyes.

Lexa nodded, knowing that she wasn’t going to get anything else. “What’s your name?”

The blonde sighed, turning her attention back to the fire. “Don’t have one.”

“Bullshit.” Lexa scoffed. When she didn’t look back to her, Lexa sighed as well. “Well, I’m Lexa.” She introduced. She figured that if she was going to be stuck with a surprisingly beautiful stranger than she would at least attempt _some_ sort of friendship. Though it was mostly so she would have some reassurance that the blonde wouldn’t kill her. The stranger locked eyes with her then, and Lexa didn’t understand why whenever they did it always felt so intense, like it was much more than just two people staring at each other. But two _souls._

“Lexa,” the blonde said slowly, testing out the word. Lexa didn’t know why warmth flooded her at the sound. She nodded. It seemed that was the end of the conversation, as the blonde just turned back to the fire once more. Huffing Lexa took the chance to examine the cave again. It obviously looked lived in, but the question Lexa couldn’t get out of her head was how long. How _long_ had it been lived in? How long had this girl been surviving out here? And more importantly, _why_? Though she desperately wanted to know, wanted to learn more about the mysterious girl, it felt like it would be stepping over some invisible line. Lexa saw how she’d tense at anything that involved _her_ , anything that involved something personal. She wouldn’t even give her her name. Lexa’s heart sunk at that. What had happened? What had happened to this girl?

And why did she want to know so badly?

An idea suddenly hit her, and she fumbled as she plunged her hand into her pockets. A grin broke out on her face as her fingers touched familiar glass, and she pulled her phone out eagerly only for that same smile to drop.

The phone was cracked, bad. And as Lexa tried to turn it on a sigh was on her lips when nothing happened. She carelessly threw it to the ground, the blonde looking over at her curiously from the sound. Lexa looked up to her.

“Phone’s gone. Though I guess it’s on me for hoping for something so unlikely.” The blonde squinted her eyes at her, glancing over to the discarded phone. Her shoulders tensed, her hands moving away from turning the meat. Lexa saw the blonde’s hand reach for her dagger. “Hey, hey it’s fine, it can’t hurt you I promise,” Lexa assured, shuffling back against the wall. She eyed her warily, carefully creeping towards the rectangular box. Lexa watched with fascination as the blonde got near the phone, crouching down with a dagger clutched tightly in her hand. Hesitantly, her finger poked it, and Lexa couldn’t hide her chuckle at the sight. The blonde whirled on to her, her dagger flicking out. Lexa instantly lifted her hands. “Hey it’s harmless I swear, it’s just a phone.”

“Safe?” the blonde questioned, her dagger still aimed at Lexa but lowering slightly. Lexa bobbed her head.

“Completely. It’s useless now anyway, it’s broken.” Lexa said, watching the blonde slowly put the dagger back to her side. Getting over the initial amusement of what just happened, her face became serious. “You don’t know what a phone is?”

The blonde glared at her, but it felt like she was madder at herself for letting information about her slip. Without answering she strode back over to the food, dipping her dagger into a nearby bowl of water before bringing up what looked a thin, stone slab. Taking her time the girl cut off pieces of the meat, building up a good portion on the slab, before putting it down and picking up another stone. Lexa realised they were plates, and the girl was at least kind enough to be cutting up some food for her. As if she had forgotten Lexa’s presence entirely she moved naturally through the cave, digging through a leather pouch in the corner and revealing a smaller bag, Lexa soon learning to be filled with herbs. Lexa observed how smooth the girl was, how graceful and practiced her movements were, as if from the times she had messed up, she had learned the little things for benefit. When she was done the blonde disappeared further into the cave, forcing Lexa to crane her neck to try spot what she was doing. In the dim light, Lexa could have sworn the girl was smirking. She came back, water skin and brown bag in hand.

She handed Lexa the slab with meat, now adding a bread roll, which had seemed to come out one of the many bags the girl had. She also handed her the water that Lexa instantly went for, only now realising how dry her throat was. This time for sure the girl was smirking. Seeming satisfied that her patient was cared for; she was now able to relax. She didn’t sit next to Lexa, but for a moment the thought crossed her mind, and she found herself instantly brushing it off. Instead she sat opposite to Lexa, her back leaning against the cave wall.

The roughness in her throat finally lessening, Lexa reached for the food given to her. For a second, she hesitated. What if it was poisoned? Lexa sniffed the food carefully; racking through her brain about any information on poisons from one the _many_ survival classes her Mum had forced her to take.

“It’s safe.” The girl said, making Lexa look up. She didn’t quite buy it.

“And I should trust you why?” Lexa asked, quirking an eyebrow. The girl sighed, but her eyes spoke differently, something like a hint of pride glinting there. Lexa shook it off. The blonde put down her own food and paced over, crouching down over Lexa’s legs. Lexa flinched almost out of habit from the close proximity, and she was surprised to find the stranger moving and giving her space not a second later. Lexa frowned, but chose not to comment on it. The girl, now with some hesitancy Lexa saw, nodded her head at Lexa’s plate.

“Choose any. You’ll see it’s safe.” With some doubt Lexa looked down, picking up a random piece that held the most amount of herbs. She handed it to the girl, and with a smug grin the blonde threw it up in the air, throwing her head back and catching it effortlessly with her mouth. Lexa blinked a few times stunned. The girl swallowed the morsel, waiting to prove that the food was clean. She locked her gaze with the brunette’s, and though it was mostly to prove a point and seem intimidating, there was also something else that she couldn’t quite place. She found that just staring into Lexa’s eyes flared a barrage of foreign feelings she had never felt before, the calmness that would beg to engulf her, a wall of denial blocking any efforts of letting it in. And those eyes themselves, the jaded green so pure it was like staring into the heart of the earth…

She shoved the thoughts aside. “See?” she remarked, tilting her head. Her voice wavered slightly.

Lexa had forgotten she was even testing to see if the food was poisonous.

She bobbed her head, the blonde getting up and heading back to her side. Lexa, with a bit of reluctance as doubt still danced in her mind, took a bite of the meat. She almost moaned, because shit it was _good._

“Hold on, what is this?” Lexa asked, forcefully stopping herself from just scoffing down the entire thing in one go. The blonde’s lips twitched slightly then, amusement twinkling in her eyes.

“Panther.”

Lexa choked on air, and the stranger chuckled softly. So soft it was barely heard, but Lexa had. Her heart pounded hard in her chest as a result.

They mostly ate in silence, Lexa now and again asking little questions. She found that her curiosity, like always, fought to be at the front of her mind, desperate to be answered and listened to. Though she asked questions, that didn’t mean she always got an answer. If she was lucky she’d get a nod, a shake of a head, or like when she asked the blonde where she got the bread, a devilish smirk that had her stomach flipping. She’d answered her finally then, her eyes full of mischief. “If you’re quick they don’t see,” she had winked, and Lexa hated how it was impossible to fight the amused smile on her lips. Though the light mood shifted fast, falling headfirst when Lexa had addressed the elephant in the room once more, watching the girl clamp up, the beginning to be familiar stiffening of her shoulders. She’d go back to her food like Lexa hadn’t said a thing, hadn’t asked what the hell she was doing out here, who she _was_. When she dared ask those questions, she’d be rewarded with silence.

With a full belly Lexa put the empty stone plate down next to her. She glanced to the outside, seeing the stars shining innocently above like they had before. Dread slithered into her bones then, her breathing thickening at the memory of the attack.

“How long was I out?” Lexa asked, surprised it had taken her this long to ask. The blonde seemed to be surprised from this too, her head tilting ever so slightly, a small squinting of the eyes.

“Only a day. Nearly two.” She answered. Lexa nodded slowly, mostly for herself. Her friend’s would’ve reached some type of civilisation then, probably getting the help of the nearest town. Which meant local police, search parties. Hope fluttered in her chest. They would hang near the campsite most likely, if she could just get back than she’d be safe. She’d be free, she’d be-

“Why are you here?” the blonde questioned, startling Lexa from her thoughts. Lexa frowned, not quite understanding.

“What do you mean?”

She furrowed her brows. “Why are you here, so deep in the woods? Closest town is… very away.”

The hope that she had felt moments ago crumbled to dust. “Camping… I was with my friends.” Lexa noticed the blonde tense. “The panther attacked the campsite, my friend’s got away to safety though thankfully.” Lexa remembered Anya’s face as she pushed her away, the devastation that shook her right to her core. She schooled her features, removing any trace of emotion. “The panther got me, that part you’d probably know, and it dragged me through the woods. I… I don’t know how long, how far. It couldn’t have been too long though. Then you were there. I passed out right after.”

A beat of silence, neither of the girls daring to meet each other’s gazes.

“I saw you with the panther, before it hurt you.” The stranger said softly, staring down at her scarred hands. Her fingers grazed over her watch, lagging as they danced over the metal. She gripped tight to it. “You froze.”

Anger, harsh and familiar burned in her. “And?” Lexa prodded, her tone daring. Just _daring_ her to say what she knew she was thinking. This seemed to backfire however, Lexa’s anger only fueling the blondes, like a flame jumping from branch to branch. Blue eyes snapped to green one’s.

“Why did you freeze?” she questioned, and Lexa’s nostrils flared.

“How do you know I froze?” Lexa countered. “Does that mean you were there?” Her turned dark. “Watching us, me, stalking? You a killer who likes to pick on helpless kids?”

At Lexa’s words, the blonde snarled, a harsh and animalistic sound that she pretended not to flinch at. “Never. I would _never._ ” She spat, pulling herself to her full height with her fists clenched at her sides. She leaned forward, her loose blonde hair hiding her face in the shadows. And though Lexa could sense the fury practically rolling off the girl in waves, something softer crept its way in, something that screamed of pain. “Never.” The girl muttered.

And then she was striding over to the heart of the cave, snatching what looked to be the last bucket of water and sharply throwing it into the larger fire, the flames evaporating with a deafening hiss. Lexa ground her teeth, her eyes following the blonde’s; the blonde’s not ever losing that contact. Challenge flared in both, and both failed to push it that little bit more. Instead staying back behind that invisible line.

Both remembered then that they were complete strangers.

But for some reason, for a moment, had felt like they had known each other their entire lives.

The blonde’s shoulders slacked a little, the tension choking the air lessening. The girl went deeper in the cave, Lexa letting her eyes shut with a sigh, fluttering open a bit later to find the blonde back in front of her, rolling out a bed of furs. It was near enough to the fire for warmth, but far enough so she couldn’t accidently roll into it. Still kneeling down, her gaze drifted to Lexa’s, and the brunette was shocked to find care there, worry.

“Can you move?” she asked. Lexa, shoving down the confusion at the one-eighty of emotions, nodded stiffly. Bracing herself she tried to haul herself up, furious pain barking at her at the weight pushed on her ankle. She fell back down, glaring at the blonde when she moved to help. So with gritted teeth she managed to stand on shaky legs, only one of them actually touching the ground. She limped the short distance over to the girl, gratefully falling to a heap on the furs. It was no mattress, but the exhaustion that had been pulsing in her skull was finally breaking through, and even in just lying down sleep seemed a breath away. Forcing her drooping eyelids open, her eyes caught the stranger slip like water through the cave. Lexa didn’t really know why she was staring at her. The rational voice in her head would say it was because it was for her safety, for if the girl decided to suddenly turn on her. But if that was so, then why did she really not care to fall asleep in the girl’s presence, the fear in her not big enough to keep her awake?

There was another reason, but she was far too exhausted to entertain the idea and reap the grief that’d come with it. So instead she calmly watched as the blonde moved in and out, packing things up, savoring the leftovers, putting everything back to where it was meant to be. It wasn’t clean by any means, but it was tidy. Lexa was about to close her eyes, giving up on staying conscious any longer, when the girl shrugged off her jacket casually.

And revealed scarred bare arms, a slightly torn grey tank top that looked oddly modern. Old, ripped, but modern. Lexa ignored the tightening in her throat, the sudden dryness that consumed her. She should look away. She should. But her eyes narrowed on the rippled flesh, the many scars that decorated the soft skin. Her fingers twitched, the thought delaying before she heard it, the urge to touch them. The blonde, whether she had noticed Lexa’s obnoxious staring or not, shucked off her pants nonchalantly, and this time Lexa finally found the decency to look away. Her cheeks burned in the dark. Though she’d deny it, she had waited a second. A single second before she turned over, catching the slightest glimpse of skin.

And it was that second, that seemingly innocent, insignificant pausing, that changed everything. But Lexa saw it as nothing more than the struggle to turn over with the pain from her ankle.

It wasn’t.

Lexa heard the blonde fall with a sigh into her bed, hers at the opposite end of the fire. She had moved it Lexa noticed, moved closer to her. She found herself wanting to question whether it was in wariness in case Lexa tried anything, being able to instantly hear the ruffling on furs and grunts of effort, or whether it was something else. She didn’t know what, but something else. Daring to look at the stranger again she saw she was still wearing the tank top, her eyes dipping without her consent to find tight black shorts. Again, they were slightly modern, and Lexa was starting to get the impression that the girl did a lot of stealing. But if it was clear that she could hunt for food, even _make_ her own clothing, then why did she have these things that she could only get through theft? Why would she bother? Why didn’t she just go _back_ to society instead of living like this?

“Are you cold?”

Lexa jumped, so deep into her mind the girl’s voice scared her more than she cared to admit. Even through the gentle embers, the fire long since calm and tired, Lexa could see the slight smirk on the blonde. But it was then that Lexa realised she _was_ cold, her body shivering without her comprehending it. Now noticing it though a surge of coldness slammed into her, chilling her to the bone from a rogue wind. Lexa shook her head.

The blonde sighed, but said nothing more.

Stubbornness giving her warmth Lexa closed her eyes, suddenly desperate for the day to end. Tomorrow, she would go home. She’d find Anya, probably panicking over her like second nature, and she’d turn up at her door with a casual knock only to instantly be swept up into a bone-crushing hug. Lincoln would be at the house a heartbeat later, somehow knowing like he always does, one of those bright smiles on his face that she rarely sees. She’d see Indra, probably get a scolding and then maybe even a loving heart-clenching hug. She felt a tear slide down her cheek, quietly dripping onto the stone ground. It had only been a day, or two, she wouldn’t be gone that long. She’d go home, and everything would be normal.

Lexa was surprised when the excitement that she had expected for the notion, never came.

A cold breeze blew into the cave, the fire flickering. Lexa shivered again, her jaw now clenched tight to stop them from chattering. She didn’t say anything. Lexa gripped tight to the furs below her, as if by just holding it closer warmth would magically spread. Her eyes closed Lexa didn’t see as the blonde stand up with a huff, trudging over to Lexa’s side. Suddenly, she felt a new warmth flood from behind her, and though her bones gratefully leaned towards it, her eyes were flying open and she was scrambling to get away. But she had forgotten about her bloody leg, and the moment she tried to find her feet stubborn pain flawed her movements, forcing her to stay on the ground. She could sit up though, and Lexa shuffled far back, her actions almost desperate. The blonde, stunned, merely lay frozen where she was, where Lexa had been a moment ago.

Lexa didn’t hold back her snarl, but it was more panicked than vicious. “What the _hell_ are you doing?”

“You were cold?” the girl answered, genuine confusion in her words.

“And you did _that_?” Lexa hissed, as if she’d done something unspeakable. But again, the girl looked at her perplexed, not understanding what she had done wrong. The girl was cold, she needed warmth or she was going to freeze in the night.

“Yes…” she said, dragging out the word and nodding her head slowly. “Warm,” the blonde pointed to herself. “Cold.” She pointed to Lexa. She lifted her hands, making a clapping-like action, as if saying together. “Not cold.” She looked to Lexa hesitantly, trying to have the girl understand. She didn’t know why the brunette was staring at her in such disgust, such shock. She just didn’t understand.

And though she wanted to be angry, Lexa found that her anger slither back into it’s worn-in hole, losing reason to stay with her. She swallowed thickly. Swallowed down the memories that had flashed in her mind the second the girl had got near her, almost held her. Remembering them being like a kick to the gut, like someone pouring acid over her skin. But this girl, she had no clue, no _genuine_ clue. And unlike everyone else in her life, there was no pity in her eyes. Lexa’s shoulders sagged. “You have to ask. You can’t do that without permission.” Lexa muttered softly, her eyes glossy. It was a miracle that the stranger even heard her. She looked at her curiously then, her head tilting sideways like a confused puppy. After a few beats she nodded, as if tucking away the information for later use. Another wind came through, and Lexa saw that hardly any goose bumps rose on the blonde’s skin.

“Can I?” she asked, her voice soft. Lexa studied the blonde’s face closely, her heart hammering and ripping apart simultaneously.

She didn’t know why she nodded.

Tentatively Lexa crept forward, lying back down, hyper aware of her movements. The girl waited a few seconds and this time, with much gentle care, lied down next to her. Lexa couldn’t hear over the pounding in her head. Her shoulders were stiff as a board at first, the blonde’s warmth seemingly unwelcome and wrong. But soon, that feeling faded, and despite her efforts to fight it Lexa found herself sinking into the girl’s body. Her eyes drooped, and with nothing to hold her back she was nearly asleep almost the moment a careful arm slid over her waist. Though she did stiffen, exhaustion won out once more. The pounding in her head began to fade away, the shackles of reality beginning to slip, letting her fall into a world far from this one. Except, in the brief moments before she finally went, Lexa heard an incredibly quiet voice in the emptiness.

“Clarke.” The girl whispered, so quiet, vulnerable.

“What?” Lexa replied groggily. She felt the girl take a deep breath.

“My name is Clarke.”

Already half asleep Lexa smiled in the dark, warmth that wasn’t from the blonde blooming in her stomach. Lexa hummed faintly. “Good night Clarke.”

“Good night Lexa.”

-

Her nose was itchy. It was her first thought after waking up, though her eyes stayed close her mind flickered back to life, memories of the past few days slamming in to her like a brick wall. But it was early, at least she thinks, so Lexa just shoved those thoughts away. _Not now_ , she thought. _Just not right now._ Her nose was still itching, the increasingly irritating appendage not giving up. Wanting to possibly catch a couple more hours of sleep, the tiredness still heavy in her bones, Lexa reached a hand to scratch her nose.

And instead, her hand touched something.

That wasn’t her nose.

Her eyelids burst open, the brightness of the morning taking a few minutes to adjust. Though it didn’t have to take too long, because right in front of her a brown shaggy wolf was staring at her dead in eye. Lexa yelped, trying to get to her feet and the hell away from the predator when, once again, her ankle hissed at her, forcing her clumsily back down to the ground. The wolf jumped back a bit, seemingly startled from the sudden movements of the girl. Not quite knowing what to do, a word, which almost sounded like a plea, slipped from her tongue without her consent.

“Clarke,” Lexa whispered, at least some part of her awake and stubborn enough not to yell like a child. And much to her surprise not a heartbeat later someone was swatting the wolf’s nose and gentle grabbing the animal’s stomach, and dragging it back. Of course the wolf almost instantly escaped the attack’s grip, yipping in surprise and scurrying off to the wall of the cave. In front her, Lexa gaped at Clarke, though she quickly clamped her jaw shut.

Clarke sighed, running a hand through her loose hair while looking down at Lexa. “Sorry, I thought he was sleeping,” she apologised. She turned her gaze to the wolf with a glare. “I had _told_ him not to scare you.” The wolf whined, and then in the most bizarre display, ran up to Clarke and started rubbing against her legs affectionately. Clarke though, seemed unfazed. With her foot she lightly pushed the wolf away. “ _Foto pakstoka,”_ she scolded, but a small fond smile contradicted her words.

Now, though Lexa should probably be asking why she was friends with a goddamn _wolf_ , instead, a different question came out. “You know trigedasleng?” Lexa breathed. Clarke’s eyes widened, snapping to Lexa’s.

She was silent for a while. “Do you?”

 _“Sha…_ ” Lexa answered shakily. At the word Lexa could have sworn Clarke almost stumbled, the shock on her face almost caving into hurt. Clarke blinked, clearly not expecting this, slinking back to the mouth of the cave where she was preparing her weapons. Lexa watched her walk away with wide eyes. Her head was now spinning. Now she had even _more_ questions about the blonde, which Lexa had previously thought to be impossible. How the hell did she know trigedasleng? There was only one way she _could_ know, and it had Lexa’s heart struggling to keep beating in time.

Clarke must be from Polis.

And then her thoughts got worse.

She could have _known_ Clarke.

Had she known her? Lexa desperately scavenged her mind, trying and failing to find any resemblance of the blonde in her memories. Though Lexa knew Polis was big, herself being from TonDC, it meant that she would have known her. She _had_ to have. Few can read trigedasleng, even fewer can speak it; only those who had lived there for a long while did. Only those who typically had links to the Elders. And that would mean someone in her bloodline _was_ one, so she would have had to go to the ancient celebrations they held each year, a tradition that had been going since no one could remember. If she could just find the family, then she could know-

The wolf barked, Lexa’s body tensing and her hands already spreading. It was staring her suspiciously; it’s yellow eyes hard and threatening. Clarke made a harsh guttural sound then, something Lexa had never heard before. It sounded oddly similar to the wolf’s bark. The wolf’s hackles rose, it’s eyes not leaving Lexa’s. Lexa shifted slightly, preparing herself to move, this time taking her injured ankle into account. The wolf began growling, Clarke made the sound again, sharper than the last. It looked like it was about to pounce when-

“Aden!” Clarke snapped. The wolf’s – Aden’s – growling faltered. Clarke stormed over to him, making sure to stand protectively in front of Lexa. Though this made Lexa scowl, her mouth almost forming the words she could take care of herself, she figured now would not be the best time. Clarke stared Aden down, and, almost like a trick of the light, Lexa saw a scar on Clarke’s hand glow. A strange warmth flooded the cave, but it was gone so fast Lexa didn’t know if it actually happened. Lexa blinked, and glow on Clarke’s hand was gone. She saw the wolf begin to relax, and in turn Clarke’s tense shoulder’s slackened. After a little while, Aden whimpered apologetically. Lexa couldn’t believe what was happening. Clarke turned to Lexa, and there was a weird wild look in her eye that she couldn’t quite place. Clarke swallowed, hard. “He won’t hurt you. He’s young, stupid at times. I’ll be right back.”

She left, and Lexa could have sworn she was panting. She would deny it, but she felt concern swell in her for the stranger. Lexa had next to no clue what just happened, but she somehow knew it had deeply affected Clarke. And though she didn’t know her at all, she felt an urge to help her that she hadn’t felt in a long time. Aden barked again, but it was softer. Lexa brought her gaze to his, and was surprised to find his eyes much lighter. When she did meet his gaze, he yipped cheerfully and practically barreled for her, ecstatically trying to lick her face. Lexa couldn’t stop the surprised chuckle from her lips, nearly falling over from the sudden attack of the wolf’s enthusiasm. Eventually, he seemed to calm down, shuffling back a few steps and planting its butt down eagerly.

It sat directly in front of her Lexa, breathing heavily with its tongue sticking out, and waited. Thoroughly confused at the drastic change of events, Lexa furrowed her brows.

“What is it?” she questioned, as if the animal could answer. Aden didn’t move, just staring at Lexa expectantly. Having a slight idea of what it wanted her to do, Lexa lifted her hand hesitantly, reaching out for the wolf. Almost immediately he pushed his large head into her hand, yipping happily. Again, Lexa chuckled in disbelief. Gaining confidence Lexa scratched Aden behind the ear, being rewarded with a delighted pleased growl. His fur was soft, the maroon colours looking beautiful on the wolf, and Lexa find herself mostly just staring at the animal in awe. Now, it seemed playful, nothing of the terrifying predator from before.

After seeming to have had enough attention Aden pulled away from her, trotting over to her side and lying down. He rested his head on Lexa’s leg, closing his eyes. Smiling, Lexa let her hand rest in his fur. But the lightness in her stomach soon dropped. She scanned the cave, the morning sun giving light to parts she hadn’t noticed last night. “Clarke?”

It took a while, but eventually the blonde emerged, her face flushed. But as she walked in and saw Lexa, saw Aden resting on her thigh she smiled. “I’m here.”

“Where were you?” Lexa asked, her stomach grumbling at the sight of the two loaves of bread in Clarke’s hands. Her cheeks reddened but it seemed like Clarke didn’t really care, instead actually quickening her pace and handing her the food. She took it from the blonde’s hands appreciatively. Clarke sat down next to Lexa, not too close as she knew how the girl felt about personal space. Lexa took a bite of the bread, Clarke not yet touching hers. She locked her gaze with Lexa, and as always those tauntingly blue eyes sucked her in.

“I found your camp.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope you guys liked this first bit! Next chapter should be up in about a week or so (depending on my lazy ass)
> 
> translations:  
> Shof op - Shut up  
> Foto pakstoka - Bad wolf  
> Sha - Yes


	2. If Only I Could Hold You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fluff fluff fluff fluff (drama)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow! its been a while hasn't it? sorry, thats all on me, but holidays are finally here and i have 2 months of fuck all to do. so, heres a chapter that i stayed up till 4am writing (theyll be an ungodly amount typos in the last bit, if you get ticked by that sorta thing kindly point them out and ill change em for you)  
> anyway i hope you guys enjoy this, its pretty much all fluff  
> (but also drama because i cant live without it)  
> (also! if you want that Full Immersion, listen to this song: n u a g e s - Dreams as you read and put it on loop)

_Home._

It was her first thought. Lexa blinked, biting back her smile. “You found the camp?” Clarke nodded stiffly. Too stiffly. Lexa’s hand withdrew from where it was resting in Aden’s fur. “Clarke, what is it?” Lexa questioned, her voice dropping.

Clarke’s face softened slightly. “It’s far. A days journey at best. We’ll have to leave now if we want to reach there by nightfall.”

“How is it that far?” Lexa frowned. She knew the panther would have dragged her quite a good few hundred metres, but even that would be stretching it. Logically there should be no reason for the camp to be so far. She was missing something. Clarke must have realised this too, because she crouched down so she was eye-level with Lexa, so they were equal. She struggled to lock eyes.

“I found you not far from your camp. Your leg… you were losing a lot of blood.” Clarke’s eyes involuntarily drifted to Lexa’s thigh. “You were so close to…” she failed to finish her sentence, the fresh images of the night burning in her mind. Red, everything was bathed in that red. Clarke swallowed, bringing her sight back. “It wasn’t safe where you were, I had to get you home. Here. You barely survived the journey.”

Lexa was silent for a moment, processing all the new information. “Why were you there then? How did you find me if you were so far out?”

“Panther.” Clarke answered. “I was tracking her. I didn’t want to kill, only to drive away. But… I think I drove her towards you. When I saw her about to kill you though, I knew she couldn’t live.”

“Oh.” Lexa mumbled softly. Clarke bobbed her head, both not really knowing what to say. After a while when the silence still held, Clarke took the opportunity to shuffle over to Lexa’s wounded ankle, casting a quick glance to Lexa for permission. Lexa nodded, her eyes trained on the blonde’s movements. Carefully, Clarke unwound the bloodstained cloth, instinctively wincing when she saw the jagged scar. It looked stomach churning but it was healing along nicely, and so Clarke simply got up from where she was sitting to retrieve her herbs for the ointment. Though Lexa did notice that Clarke lagged for a second before she did this, her fingers twitching as if they should be doing something else. Clarke almost seemed to scowl even, before her face was blank again and she was hauling herself up. Like before, Clarke offered Lexa a stick to bite in to, which she took sheepishly. Her pride grumbled from inside of her, logic shushing its mutterings. Clarke crushed up the herbs, forming the paste, and with a hand scrapped it onto her fingers and into the wound.

It was still just as painful as last time.

When Clarke was done she rewrapped the wound and reminded Lexa not to put too much strain on it for when they walked. With a sigh Clarke got up and began packing a bag, filling it with snacks of food, a stone knife, arrows and-

“Are those pencils?” Lexa asked, the surprise evident in her voice. Clarke froze as she hovered over her the mouth of her bag. Slowly, her fingers clenched around the charcoal pencils in her hands. She looked up to Lexa, her eyes strangely cold. Without answering she shoved them in her beg, and, with her back now turned to the brunette, quickly snuck in her sketchbook. Throwing in the remains of the ointment and a few spare rags she swung the bag over her shoulder, Aden scrambling up to his paws as he realised they were going out. Lexa had finished her bread by now, and with grunted effort pulled herself up. Clarke waited for her, not saying a word but watching her closely. When Lexa was on her feet and began limping over, her face scrunching up with each slow, ragged step, Clarke let out a sigh.

“Stop.”

Lexa didn’t know why she listened. “What?”

“Wait.” Clarke said, raising a hand. With a scowl, Lexa obeyed. The blonde let out a low whistle, Aden’s ears perking up from the sound and trotting over to her. She bent down when he got close enough, fondly giving his head a little scratch, before giving him a long stare, right into the wolf’s eyes. When a few stretched seconds passed, Clarke stood back up and turned her seemingly always-intense gaze to Lexa. “I’ll be fast.” With that she slipped out from the cave, leaving a very confused brunette. Lexa chuckled to herself.

“The hell am I doing?” she muttered, dragging her hands over her face. This girl, this Clarke was such a mystery it was beginning to become frustrating. Anytime she managed to figure out something about her, it was like a hundred more questions were to come in its place. Though yes, it was boarding on insanity of how badly she just wanted a straight answer, a new, more cautioned worry was distantly circling her like a shark that had caught the scent of blood. Why? Why did she care? There were many questions she had for Clarke, but there was one for herself. And it was that one that scared her the most.

And every time she thought about it, the shark came in closer.

Waiting for the moment when it’ll be close enough to bite.

Lexa swallowed the lump in her throat, shoving all of her unwanted thoughts as far as she could. The problem was pretty much _all_ of her thoughts were unwanted, so with that gone, she was left with nothing and in the easiest position for those darkened thoughts to come charging back. She forced her attention to Aden.

Lexa jumped when she saw he had been watching her. The sudden surprise almost had her falling over, except Aden had darted over to her and used his weight to keep her balanced. Before Lexa could even properly react to this, he was at the mouth at the cave again, facing outwards as if on the lookout. Like a guard dog. Lexa’s brows creased, but decided that with all the other weird things that had happened in the past forty-eight hours, an oddly friendly wolf wasn’t that strange, nor unwelcome. So all she did was wait until he turned his head and was able to catch his eye, giving him a grateful nod.

And for some unexplainable reason she saw him nod back.

It was another ten minutes or so when Clarke came back, and Lexa was embarrassingly relieved, an odd tightening in her chest loosening when she spotted that head of yellow creep up into her sight. When Clarke was an arm’s length away, Lexa finally tore her gaze from her eyes to what she was actually carrying. Hugged tight under her arms, were two long rounded pieces of wood, white fur lined on the top. Lexa blinked in shock.

“Are those crutches?”

Clarke frowned, now standing in front of her. “Crutches?”

“What you’re carrying,” she pointed to what looked to be hand-made wooden crutches. Clarke followed her finger, raising a brow at her.

“You call this… crutches?”

Lexa shrugged. “Depends what they do.” With the smallest smile, Clarke handed them over. Lexa should probably be thankful that she was around Clarke’s height, meaning the crutches height easily catered to her. She took them from Clarke’s grasp gratefully, assigning a crutch to a side and experientially leaning forward with them. She tested out a step. Well, they weren’t terrible. They didn’t hold or help balance her weight as much as proper ones did, but it was better than nothing. Green met that depthless blue, and Lexa grinned. “Thank you Clarke.”

The blonde just bobbed her head. With that done, Clarke threw a glance to Aden, letting out another quick whistle before spinning on her heel. She stopped at the very edge, turning her head and catching Lexa’s eye. “Coming?”

Lexa took a deep, trembling breath, and smiled. She followed Clarke out of the cave, Aden trailing closely by her side. Guard dog it seemed indeed.

And with a quiet whisper of hope, she let Clarke lead her out into the forest below.

-

Despite the whole nearly-ripped-to-shreds by a panther thing, and being stuck with a complete stranger who could probably kill her in a heartbeat if she wanted to; Lexa was feeling relatively at peace. The sun had crept all the way to the top of the sky now, its relentless heat starting to take effect. She was thankful for the clouds that offered them a thin wave of protection, dulling the sheer intensity of it ever so slightly.

She was starting to get the hang of the crutches now, the right way to lean and push, where to put the next pace down and how to avoid any suspicious holes or dig-ins. And really, the forest was actually quite beautiful. The trees were astonishingly tall, some trunks thick and others thin, but all equal in the strange ancient calm that they all seemed to emit. Maybe she had lost a litre too many of blood, but sometimes it seemed like as they trudged their way through the forest, casting slow glances up, up, up through the green leaves right into the hanging canopies, sometimes she feels like the trees glance back.

Or maybe it was just the dehydration talking.

Aden, like he had been for the entire trip, was padding by her side. Occasionally sniffing the odd leaf or plant, before Clarke would always somehow know and click her tongue, the brown almost blonde wolf stumbling to race back to Lexa’s side. Lexa liked his presence. It was almost like having the dog she never had but always wanted, his random glance at her as if to check she was still there setting off a little fire beneath her heart. Warming it in ways she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Clarke didn’t walk that far ahead, only a few lengths, and she was close enough that every now again Lexa would catch her eye, and she’d hold it, she’d hold it as if she’d grabbed Clarke’s very shoulders and she’d only let go when the usual blank face would lighten ever so slightly, a smile so fast like a shooting star tugging her lips. And then she turn back around the second it slipped out, but Lexa could see, she could see the crumbling remains and she’d watch them until they’d disappear completely. And it was those smiles that very nearly melted her heart into nothing more than a puddle.

It was after an unseen bird’s screech that Lexa finally said something, speech itself sounding strange when not heard for over three hours.

“Do you have any water?” Lexa asked, not stopping her stubborn efforts to keep up with the blonde. Clarke didn’t stop walking, her answer coming out in a slightly ragged breath.

“Soon. River up ahead.”

“Here?” Lexa frowned. She stopped, her gaze roaming over the wild lands around them. “It’s just trees.”

Clarke chuckled then, and god help her but Lexa nearly fell over from the sound. It surely wasn’t possible to have a laugh as warm as that was it?

“It’s never just trees.” Clarke replied. She turned her head, her body stilling when she saw Lexa had stopped. “Come, we are close.”

Lexa sighed dramatically. “Yes, yes I’m coming. It’s not like I’m on crutches or anything.” She grumbled. Clarke smiled, shaking her head with a scoff.

“Terrible, terrible.”

When Lexa had caught up to Clarke’s side she began moving again, but unlike before, hung back so she matched pace with Lexa. This delighted Lexa, not that she’d show it, or admit it, but still it was obvious in the way Lexa grinned so wide that her cheeks hurt, and how she had to look the other way, away from Clarke, to hide it. She was glad Aden was a wolf and couldn’t dob her in.

They didn’t talk the rest of the way, but unlike most of her social interactions, there was no awkwardness or tension in the silence that sat between them. Maybe she was too much of a nature nerd at heart, or maybe it was because the sight of the wonder that sparkled ever so slightly in Clarke’s eyes was breathtaking, but just walking, even in crutches, within the depths of untouched forest, made human words seem unwelcome, as if they weren’t worthy enough to be allowed into such a space.

So instead of words, instead of car horns or an angry phone call that leaves a spiteful shaking in your bones, there were different sounds. There were the crunch of leaves under her foot, the deep huff and sneeze from Aden that made Lexa chuckle, the gentle hums of the birds that watched over them from above, tweeting and squeaking, and then the rustle of the branch as they fly away, yellow-ish green leaves fluttering soundlessly to the ground. It was almost hypnotic, the state of it all, but just before she’d get sucked in and consumed, her sight would involuntarily jump to Clarke, and her fumbling grip would miraculously become firm. Suddenly though, a different sound was tapping at her ears.

Well, it seemed Clarke wasn’t lying about the river.

Emerging out from the cover of the trees, now with the clear view of the open sky, Lexa squinted her eyes as they adjusted to the light. The pair slowed to a halt, unlike the wolf that bolted right out and into the water. Clarke grinned at the sight, turning to Lexa.

“He loves the water.” Clarke explained, narrowly avoiding a rouge splash. Lexa smiled.

“I can see.”

Clarke knelt down, swinging her bag over her shoulder and pulling out a water satchel. “Thirsty?”

“Very.” Lexa nodded. Clarke crawled over to the edge of the river, her leather boots just tipping into the stream. She dipped the mouth of the canteen into the water, Lexa moving and, with a few grunts, plopping herself down on a large rock. She let out a relieved sigh, the lack of pressure of her wounded ankle much appreciated. “How far are we now?”

“Should be there by sunset.” Clarke answered, taking a swig from the water skin. Lexa bobbed her head, her sight latching onto the canteen without her full consent, and though she would deny it till her last breath with a range of half-hearted excuses, for a moment or two she got lost in the sight of the few water droplets that trickled out from her lips. She tore her eyes away, instead focusing on the calming view of the river that looked like it ran on for forever with no actual ending. She ignored the tightening in her gut, and the tiny, tiny whisper that breathed its loudest chuckle in its chains. _She’s gone_.

And unlike all the other times she’s heard those words, they were said with a smile.

But like always her face hardened, and her fists twitched. She was so caught up in trying to calm her breathing that she jumped when Clarke was suddenly in front of her, holding out the water skin. Clarke frowned at the reaction, but didn’t comment on it.

“Thank you,” Lexa mumbled, gratefully taking the canteen from the girl’s hand. As she did though, her fingers brushed Clarke’s, and just as she lagged a moment too long so she could savour the jolt that buzzed up her arm, her hand was retracting and the feeling was gone. Still she felt echoes of it dancing along her fingertips.

Lexa couldn’t know, but as Clarke turned away and lent down to pick her bag the brief sensation of the touch was sending her mind into a frenzy of panic and excitement, confusion twinkling at the edges. She’d never felt anything like that before. Clarke slipped off her jacket, a part of her head settling into unease at the thought of losing a layer of protection. When Lexa was done nearly chugging half of the water skin, Clarke took it back with a smirk, shuffling over to the river to refill it.

With a new burst of energy back, Clarke stood up with a sigh. If Lexa had two working legs, they could be there in a quick three hours, or, if she went the other method, she could get them there in a breezy hour. Maybe even half if she pushed it. But she couldn’t do that; she couldn’t push it, let alone do it. No, they were stuck with walking the rest of journey, and every slow step they took, every break, every trip, sent burning waves of anxiety under her skin. Her old friend paranoia was making an appearance, but the question wasn’t in why she was paranoid, but more in why did she stop being it? When did comfort, no matter how small, sneak its way in?

The river wasn’t too wide, though it was quite deep. She was about to just cross it when she stopped herself, her foot almost tripping over from the sudden lack of movement. Lexa, now standing, raised a brow.

“Something wrong?”

“The river,” Clarke said. She gave it a long glance, her brow furrowing. “You can’t get across.”

Lexa took her own look, craning her neck to try and see. Initially she was going to brush her off, some stubborn part on her dead set on not letting anyone help her. Really, she had always been like that. Dependent on only her self and no one else, and it worked, for a time at least. It kept her safe, but it also left her alone. And as the years went on, she found the loneliness become less of an importance, and more of a pain. So as she looked and saw the rush of the water and way it ran too fast and deep for someone with crutches to limp through, she felt something like her heart sighing, with either sadness or fondness, and for once, didn’t argue.

“Looks like it.”

Clarke looked at Lexa, her eyes squinting as she tossed an idea around in her head. Lexa could only tell this because she was biting her lip, and well, it suddenly made Lexa thirsty all over again. A small part of her was relieved when it seemed like Clarke had made up her mind.

“I can carry you across.”

“Seriously?” Lexa gaped. Though she promptly shut her jaw.

Clarke shrugged, and Lexa could have sworn her cheeks were blooming the slightest shades of pink. “You have a better idea?”

“I… Not really.” Lexa mumbled.

“Then I’ll carry you.”

Lexa could only nod. Later on, she would question herself on why she didn’t even offer a word of retaliation. Normally, if someone offered to do such a thing Lexa would glare at them so hard it was miracle they didn’t set on fire, yet, with this complete stranger, Lexa couldn’t even find the strength to shake her head. Her crutches dug into the dirt as moved so she was next to Clarke. While it was entirely the blonde’s idea and there weren’t any others on the offer, Clarke still hesitated, her eyes catching Lexa’s questioningly before she even lifted a finger. Lexa gave her a small smile, something that slipped out without her permission.

Clarke still replied with one of her own. She pulled her bag back on.

“Ready?” she questioned.

“As I’ll ever be.” Lexa muttered. Clarke was polite enough that she let out a little chuckle. She reached to grab one of the crutches, her movements slow in case Lexa changed her mind. But, weirdly, she didn’t. So Clarke took one of the crutches, pulling Lexa’s arm and draping it around her shoulder. When her heart was done with its relentless pounding and ever so slightly calmed down, Lexa gave up her other crutch and felt her legs suddenly lift off the ground.

And just like that, Clarke was carrying her.

Clarke made a quick low whistle, Aden’s now drenched head snapping to hers. She bobbed her head in the direction of discarded crutches, Aden shaking himself dry before jumping back on land and trotting over to them, picking them up with his mouth. As it turns out, he could only fit one at a time. So, with two trips, he leapt surprisingly gracefully over the river, the crutch never once falling from his jaw. Clarke adjusted her grip on Lexa, and she forced herself to not think about how one of hands was clinging onto impossibly soft skin. Her arms began to shake with her weight, Clarke sucking in a sharp breath before stepping into the stream, the water riding quite a few centimeters above her knee. She made sure that Lexa didn’t touch the water. Clarke pushed through, the river stubbornly pushing back, reluctant on letting her pass. But eventually, with steps slow as an invisible hand gripped her ankle and threatened to pull her under, Clarke made it to the other side. Lexa in tow.

Aden barked ecstatically, rushing over to her side. Carefully, Clarke put Lexa back on the ground, her hand holding Lexa’s arm to help balance her.

“Well, that could have gone a lot worse.” Lexa breathed, taking the crutches back with a grateful smile. Clarke didn’t say anything, just nodding her head, helping in holding Lexa until the two crutches were under her arms once more. Clarke finally let go of her then, taking a few steps back with a shuddering breath. Lexa watched her curiously, her brow furrowing as Clarke, for a moment, seemed off. It was gone within an instant, so fast that Lexa was surprised she even caught it. But she did catch it, for a second, she saw that confusion, the dimmest spark of hurt.

And suddenly Lexa was so angry.

Because here was a girl who lived in the woods all by herself, without any human contact for who knows how long and too many scars to count trailing down her arms. Here was a girl who’s first thought was to help a stranger instead of leaving them and saving themselves the trouble. And here was a girl, just that, here was a _girl._ Her face was soft enough that couldn’t be that much older than her, but then you’d look at her eyes and you’d assume her age was up in the thirties.

She probably wasn’t a girl at this point, but a survivor. Of what though, Lexa had no idea.

And it drove her insane that she didn’t.

“Which way now?” Lexa said, and this time it was Clarke who jumped in surprise from her voice. At least she earned a small smile from that.

She shook her head slightly, and like that all traces of doubt and emotion was gone from her face. The usual mask back in place. “Forward.” She gestured to the forest in front of her. “We’ll go north till we hit another part of the river, then we’ll follow it. It should take us close to your camp.”

“Your English is very good for someone living in a cave.” Lexa commented. Clarke threw her a glare, but it wasn’t too harsh.

“Let’s go.”

Lexa cracked a smile anyway. “As you wish Princess.”

Clarke lightly hit her behind the head, Aden letting out a hearty woof. And with the edges of Clarke’s lips tipping upwards, they were walking back through the forest.

-

Nothing happened for about an hour.

That hour was actually quite nice. Like before, Lexa had just let herself slip back into that foreign state of calm, something she didn’t even know she was able to do. But she was able to, at least for now. And she wasn’t going to waste that opportunity. The sun was still high, and she knew, and could feel the sunburn that was forming on her neck. She had asked Clarke if she had anything like sunscreen, since it seemed like she had a habit of stealing things, but the blonde had simply scrunched her nose and shook her head. So with a sigh Lexa just splashed some water behind her neck and prayed it wouldn’t be too bad. It was a stupid thought, but hey, she wasn’t exactly in the most ideal of situations.

Her stomach had begun its grumblings. At first it was small, a quiet whine that Lexa could hide. She had been quite literally cradled before, so she wasn’t in a rush to ask for any more help. But gradually, the tiny grumble was morphing into a pain of outrage. Her stomach wasn’t even grumbling any more, she could feel the emptiness so agonizingly clearly.

She slowed her steps, her eyes catching sight of a shrub with red looking berries on it. Maybe hunger was overriding a couple fail-safes, because they looked unbelievably delicious. Clarke wasn’t too far ahead, so Lexa took the chance to crouch down, which was a bit more painful than she first suspected, her crutches gently being put down next to her. She reached out and plucked one of the berries, the rustle of the leaves making Aden’s ear twitch in her direction. She plopped it in her mouth just as he swung his head around, and she almost fell over when he barked so loud her ear drums damn nearly rattled. Clarke’s eyes were on her just a second later, and they widened almost comically.

“What are you eating?” she said, very slowly. Lexa pulled herself to her feet.

She pointed to the bush. “Berries?”

“ _Those_ berries?” Her eyes jumped between the shrub and Lexa, and she was walking over to the frozen brunette before she was even thinking it.

“What’s wrong with them?” Lexa mumbled.

“Poisonous.”

Lexa spat it out. But she still had swallowed some and it felt like lead in her stomach. “How poisonous?” Lexa asked, and when she saw Clarke’s uncharacteristically still face she forced herself to swallow the dry lump in her throat.

“Deadly.”

Lexa stared at her, static in her ears. She was halfway through wondering ‘is this really how I’m going to die, because I ate a damn berry?’ when Clarke’s blank face broke into a mischievous smile. Lexa nearly doubled over with relief, a dry chuckle escaping her.

“You son of a bitch!” She hissed, though it was playful, and she lent down to throw a handful of dirt at the giggling blonde. Clarke just laughed louder from that, dodging another fling of dirt.

“You’ll be fine,” Clarke chuckled, taking a deep breath to try and stop her laughing. Lexa just glared at her, and Clarke bit her lip hard so she wouldn’t embarrass the poor girl any longer. She still snorted.

“Asshole.” Lexa grumbled, brushing past her with surprisingly long strides with her crutches. Clarke just grinned at her, but as Lexa strode past her eyes caught the red on the back of Lexa’s neck.

“Hey, hey stop,” Clarke called, rushing over to her. Lexa stopped, but she did so with a sigh so long her lungs ran out of air to push.

“Got another fun joke that’ll scare the living daylights out of me?”

“No, your neck is burning.” Clarke said, and Lexa has to wonder whether she even got that she was being sarcastic.

Lexa scoffed. “I know, I can feel it.”

“Here, hold on.” Lexa made a move to turn around, her curiosity getting the best of her when a hand was at her shoulder, gently pushing her back. She gave up on turning, but some part kept pushing back ever so slightly so Clarke’s hand would be forced to stay. When she finally withdrew it, the space where it was felt unusually cold. “I’m just going to put something on it okay?”

Her voice was right next to her ear, and damn her but a shiver ran down her spine. “Sure,” she said, and Lexa prayed that Clarke didn’t notice how soft it was.

Clarke smiled because she did.

Lexa felt Clarke put what she assumed to be the ointment on her neck; it was cool enough that she let out a tiny sigh from the feel of it. Clarke then gently laid her hand over her neck, pushing down slightly. And instead of feeling cool, it suddenly felt very warm. It was strange, in that it wasn’t so hot that it burned yet it still _felt_ like it was burning, but not enough that it caused pain. Instead it somehow sat in the middle, just leaning in. The burning sensation flared in her stomach, but before she could comment on it Clarke’s hand was off and the feeling was gone.

Lexa touched the back of neck, and it was like the burn was never there. She blinked a couple times, a little in shock, a little in awe. Well that was some damn good cream.  
“Thanks,” she murmured. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Clarke just shrugged, and with one last small smile that had Lexa’s stomach doing these indescribable flips, they were moving again. This time though Clarke walked _next_ to Lexa. Mostly because she didn’t want her accidently getting hurt again, but also, ever so slightly, because walking next to the girl sparked this warmth in Clarke’s chest that she had never felt before. And, really, she didn’t ever want it to go away.

Though they were walking again and hadn’t had any more encounters with deadly berries, Lexa was still hungry. The hunger had even jumped to Clarke, with a growl so loud even Lexa heard it. Yet Clarke didn’t even flinch when this happened, or really give any kind of response, and if Lexa hadn’t had heard the sound she probably wouldn’t have noticed.

It made Lexa think that maybe Clarke had been hungry the entire time but hadn’t said anything.

Sweat was leaking steadily down her neck now, the front and back of her grey shirt practically drenched in the stuff. “You got any bread rolls on you?” Lexa asked. Her words came out in strangled breath. Clarke noticed, and she slowed herself to a stop.

“No, all gone,” she answered, but the way she said it Lexa could tell it saddened her as much as it did herself. But then something that wasn’t a quite a smile, something more primal than that, broke out on her face. And Aden must of picked up on it too, somehow saw the glint in her eye that almost outshined the sun above them. “Have you ever hunted before?” Clarke asked, and her words dripped so thickly of excitement it was infectious. She felt her heart rate go up.

“Not really,” Lexa said. “I mean, my Mum dragged me out for shooting a couple times?”

Clarke was already moving backwards, her eyes never once leaving Lexa’s. They were locked and Clarke’s steps were slow, beckoning, a quirk in her lips that spoke of a thrill that didn’t quite seem human. And dear God if it didn’t take all of her mental effort not to just follow her blindly.

“Come, I’ll show you. You won’t have to run, you can do that once you’re healed.” Clarke said, and the way she said it, like she would heal, like she would come back. Like this, what it was, it was all some big secret that such a very few get to experience. Because Lexa could see, she could see that this was more than finding something to eat for lunch. This was deeper than that; this was an offer of a piece of her. Lexa was always good at reading the emotions that people don’t want to be read. It was a bittersweet talent, annoyed the absolute hell out of Anya growing up, always knowing when she was lying. And now, Lexa could see clear as day that cut off craving for contact that this girl never had the chance to grow, that while she may be human, she was too isolated to ever know.

And for some reason, that craving was sputtering back to life.

Lexa stared at her a moment longer, felt her head scream at her just say ‘no’ and let Clarke go hunt them some food. But her heart, well, her heart was thumping relentlessly against her ribcage, trying to break its way out, to grab hold of the other one that had called for its help.

Lexa had always listened to her head. Call it survival, call it habit, it was just who she was, what she was known for. The girl who chose head over heart. And she had never seen a reason to change that, maybe for when she was with Costia, but the moment she had she had woken up the next day with police at her door.

Lexa always listened to her head. But seeing as how it’s gotten her, maybe, just this once, she’ll listen to her heart.

“Okay,” Lexa finally said, and Clarke’s feral grin turned a little more human. A little softer.

Aden was wagging his tail like crazy, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He yipped and barked, waiting with a strange mix of impatient patience, his head jumping between the blonde and brunette, who, for no reason he could work out, were just staring at each other.

When it seemed like Clarke had found whatever she was looking for Lexa’s eyes, she let out low whistle between her teeth. Clarke smiled with the excitement of the girl she was. Lexa smiled too.

Then they were running.

Well, not quite.

Running with crutches is a hard task, one that Lexa took with large strides. It was more of a brisk power walk, with, for once, Aden at the front. His nose was to the air, but it’d jump to the ground every now and again, snap to a swaying tree, an idle bush. Clarke was barely a step ahead of Lexa, as it seemed Aden never strayed from the blonde, she kept close to Lexa so they wouldn’t lose him. Lexa wanted so desperately to ask about the wolf, to ask about how she manages to talk with a species that is so far from their own. With just a whistle, a bob of the head, or, back in the cave when she made that sound in her throat that was eerily similar to a bark, she could get whatever message across to the wolf perfectly.

She could kind of get a message across to Aden. Sometimes she thinks that he can detect the change in her tone, that even if the words don’t make sense to him, that _sound_ does. How long had he been glued to Clarke’s side? Wolves weren’t meant to act like the domestic dog he was acting like now surely?

They were moving quieter now, Clarke’s hand rose up as the only indication. Her eyes, like Aden’s yellow one’s, were jumping constantly around them. At the start of the journey she had kept her bow attached to her bag, a quiver of arrows hanging on the opposite side. Now, the quiver was slung over her shoulder, the bow in her calloused hand that held the arrow sitting in the string so incredibly delicately that Lexa may of spent a moment just staring at it.

Those moments dragged into minutes as she began staring at more than just bow and arrow.

She stared at the entire girl, at her golden hair that tumbled so flawlessly and the way the sun seemed to make it glow, but also the way it shone its own brightness, a brightness so subtle, so soft, that no sun could create that. No light, no bulb could glow in such a way. And it was hypnotizing and it was transfixing, and Lexa decided that she could spend her entire life threading her hands through those curls and never grow tired.

The dark part of her heart, whipped at her with memories of Costia and the betrayal that she should feel with thinking thoughts like that. And she did feel it, feel that coldness that was only reserved for her. But something was there now too, something she thought she would never felt, or even caught a glimpse of, again.

Closure.

With the smallest smudge of forgiveness.

Costia was gone, she has been gone for months. But that latter fact hadn’t really hit her until just now. Four months, she’s been gone for four months. And In those months she’s been pushing herself so far into another world, another world where she’s either unconscious, alone, or asleep, that she had forgotten this one. This one, where she should be honouring Costia’s name, not forgetting it.

Someone touched her shoulder, and her eyes snapped up to meet Clarke’s. She didn’t say anything, probably wanting to retain some element of stealth. But Lexa could see the question in her eyes.

Only now did Lexa realise she had stopped walking.

Lexa blinked, felt the spark and jolt from Clarke’s touch. And, with a surprising amount of ease, she smiled. Barely a tug at the lips really.

But Clarke saw, and she gave her own smile too.

And Lexa wondered how something so small could rip her apart so intensely.

In the best, most beautiful goddamn way.

-

Hunting, it seems, was more than just a chase for food. More than just a sport, but an art. No, Lexa shook her head, not an art, a ritual. A special practice. They had spent another ten minutes or so wandering around, at least for Lexa it felt like wandering around. To Clarke, and even Aden, it seemed more like a following a fading trail, like picking up the scraps in an attempt to fix a jigsaw puzzle. Except some of the pieces were missing, or perfectly shaped yet with a different picture for a competently different puzzle. That’s how Clarke described it anyway when Lexa had asked, when they were sitting around a small makeshift fire that Clarke had almost instantly set to light. Clarke had shot a deer, a single arrow, right through the head. With a knife that she at first spent some time sharpening on another rock, she had cut out the pieces that were now roasting over the fire.

“When we were in the forest,” Lexa had asked, lying down on her side with her crutches up against tree, discarded like they weren’t her own. “How did you find the deer drinking by the creek like that?”

Clarke had smiled, a special smile, one for whenever Lexa asked things out of blatant curiosity and nothing else. No ulterior motives, just pure, and untouched, curiosity. “If look close enough, you can see the tracks. Not just tracks of a print, but of the…” she had scrunched her nose then, the word she was looking for hanging just of the edge of her tongue.

“Special?” Lexa supplied.

Clarke shook her head. “The smaller, softer, tracks. The one’s you only see if you’re looking, never in the open.”

Clarke had gone on about it, trying to explain what these signs and tricks were. The blue of sky was fading into pink, but Lexa was entirely focused on girl in front of her, and she completely missed the flock of birds that flew over ahead and the giant fruit bats that began their move. Instead, she saw how Clarke moved in the forest. She saw how her ear would twitch like Aden’s at the smallest of sounds, how she’d suddenly stop, and Lexa would try with all her effort to be as quiet as possible for her.

She learned how Clarke was looking for nipped at bushes, for a shrub that was half eaten and the careless trail of leaves that would be left behind. The dents in the earth, something Lexa actually had a little knowledge on thanks to her Mum, and the sounds, that if you listen close enough, you can hear.

The meat was nearly burnt by the time she was done talking, that glint back in her eye, Aden’s sleepy head on her thigh letting out a smallest of whines. Clarke had laughed, scratched a little behind his ear to calm the teenage wolf. That was something else Lexa had learned, that Aden wasn’t full grown, but a teenager. Maybe she was just around small dogs too much, but this was a surprise to her. Clarke had grinned that primal grin, giving a rough rub to Aden’s belly.

“It’s why he’s so moody,” she’d say, and when she’d stop petting him and tend to meat his shaggy brown head would pop up, whining at the loss of contact. And Lexa would chuckle, but her brow would also crease at the way Clarke had said it. Like him being a teenager, that wasn’t what she was. That all those mood swings, and quick irritation and rebellion; that she was past that. That she wasn’t a teenager.

But from the way she looked, there was no way she was above the age of twenty. In fact, if Lexa had to take a guess, she’d say she’d be seventeen like her. It could be wishful thinking, but it also was likely to be fact. She was still a teenager, in years perhaps, but maybe with however long she had been out here, she had jumped a few years and was now in numbers that her hand shouldn’t be able to reach. But it did reach, and the thought brought questions to her lips that she knows Clarke won’t answer, and yet, they keep coming back, persistently begging, praying for a response.

The skies were a deeper red now, all three bellies full with deer. Clarke and Lexa had of course cooked all of their meals, Clarke slapping Aden’s nose whenever he began creeping over to the cut-in deer’s body. Only when Clarke was sure Lexa was full and wouldn’t eat anymore, she let Aden go, let him dive at the remains and eat it raw.

Lexa hadn’t realised how fast the hours had passed, how talking and hunting had landed them in the faint glow of moon; it’s surface only half showing. Her eyelids were drooping, but she was fighting the call of sleep without mercy, dead set on staying awake, on hearing the last of Clarke’s story.

So maybe Lexa had caved a little, had asked a question she knew she shouldn’t.

But, unlike all the other times she gets ignored or brushed off, Clarke actually paused. She had stared at her, through the crackling embers of the fire that touched her face in such a way it was impossible not to get pulled in. To not get roped in by those blue eyes, not get sucked in and in and in and in. Time seemed to bend then, or maybe it stopped, maybe, if for a moment, it held its breath, knowing how delicate of this space seemed to be.

Lexa had asked how long.

And Clarke, with her eyes finally turned away, had answered.

“I’ve lost count.”

Her voice was fighting the constrains of a whisper, but it failed in reaching a sound louder than it.

“When did you stop counting?” Lexa pushed, desperate, so unexplainably desperate for these answers. When Clarke turned back to her she was afraid she had stepped a step too far, that prodding for more was too much, that she’d had the chance, and ruined it.

But Clarke just looked up to the sky, and maybe because Lexa had some experience with it, but she’s pretty sure it was because she was trying to hold in her tears.

“Ten.”

“Ten… ten years old?”

“No, I stopped counting after ten years.”

The silence became a creature of it’s own then. Thick and suffocating, stuffing its way down Lexa’s throat. Lexa wondered whether Clarke felt the silence like a snake around her neck too.

When time began breathing again, Clarke got up, reaching into her bag and pulling out a folded roll of furs. She walked over to Lexa’s side, the fire like a wall between them, and gently put it down by Lexa, her movements soft so Lexa could tell. She could tell that she wasn’t mad Lexa had asked, that it was okay. But it wasn’t okay, not to her at least. Yet, still, she kept her mouth shut, and gave Clarke a thankful smile. And when Clarke went back to her side and Lexa realised she hadn’t packed a bed of furs for herself, she opened her jaw, ready to protest that it was _she_ that should have the bed furs.

But Clarke was already turned away, lying on her side on the ground. Probably already half-asleep. So Lexa closed her mouth reluctantly, scowling into the growing dark. She flicked her eyes over to Aden, who was also sleeping by the fire, his brown fur almost black in the night. But when her eyes were on him, one of his creaked open. She held it, and then nodded in Clarke’s direction, trying to do like Clarke does. _Go to her_. She tried to say. _Go to her, give her warmth_.

Maybe the world was feeling kind, maybe after all the hell she’s been through it had finally given her a look of pity. Because he got up, he swayed up onto four legs, sleep still heavy in his steps as he bumbled over to Clarke’s side and fell back into a heap. And then Aden scooted a little closer so that his fur was touching, and he acted as a brick wall against the treacherous cold breeze.

Lexa smiled, her face barely visible now.

Ten years. She couldn’t get those two words out of her head. The worst part though, it was longer than that, more than that. Lexa wondered whether she was always alone, whether at one point she had a family that had protected her, cared for her. Whether it was her family, her father or mother, that for some reason she lived out here and maybe she even lived in a tribe at a time. That somehow out there, there are two parents worrying sick over their daughter who lives in a cave.

She hopes she’s right. That Clarke has a family that she goes back too.

But she can already feel the sad shake of the head her mind was making.

Teenagers who knew how to hunt, heal, bandage, track – they were alone.

They were the ones that were left alone.

-

Hours later, when the sun had been gone and was long into its own sleep, the cold began to truly set in. It was sudden, like ambush. As if it crept along the very grass, only letting its toes touch the ground as it slid and wisped through, and when it made it, when it circled around the campfire and waited till the flames coughed out its last breath, it pounced on them.

The cold didn’t really affect Clarke, or at least, normally it wouldn’t. She had methods for that, but she couldn’t do them here. She didn’t even have a blanket. But she could deal with it, she always had.

It was Lexa she was worried about.

And though she should be questioning why she even cared about this stranger, she did, and emotion never got along well with rationality, so she let it be. Her eyes flickered open, catching sight of Lexa’s very slightly trembling form. She felt something soft tickling her neck, and when she turned her head she realised it was the breaths from Aden’s nose, his muzzle snuggled in right next to her. She couldn’t stop her smile, but it did fade when she looked over to Lexa again.

She got up, quietly, like she always did. She tiptoed her way over to Lexa’s side, suddenly remembering Lexa’s last reaction to when she got to close to her.

But she had been fine with it right? Had been stiff at first but asleep within moments in her arms.

And maybe, just maybe she wanted to hold Lexa more than just because she was shivering from the cold.

Maybe- Maybe she just wanted to hold her.

And since Clarke knew that tomorrow she would never see this stranger, this brunette again, she crouched down. Slowly, she lied down next to Lexa, shuffled up close so their bodies touched, somehow fitting so impossibly perfectly.

Lexa didn’t flinch, didn’t get up and snarl or hiss at her to go away.

No, instead Lexa mumbled something in her sleep, and when Clarke snaked her arm around her waist like she was the only thing keeping her there Lexa’s hand came up and grabbed Clarke’s.

And maybe she was being selfish.

But Clarke couldn’t explain this sensation in her stomach, this nervousness she had never felt before. This feeling in chest that she didn’t know even existed.

And maybe she was being selfish, but she held Lexa tighter, felt her heart swell ten times its size in the best possible way.

And like that, she fell asleep.

-

One of the drawbacks of sleeping in the forest Lexa learned is that there’s nothing to block out the rising of the sun. No walls, whether brick or the fabric of a tent screen, there was nothing to stop the light from burning your eyes. Lexa woke up abruptly her hand that was still half-sleep coming up to shield at least some of the god-awful sun.

Except, she couldn't lift it.

Because it was caught under something.

Her hand was caught under Clarke’s arm. Then, blinking the last haze of sleep from mind, she realised that Clarke was behind her, their bodies almost tangled together. And while before anyone’s touch on her triggered a flinching reaction like it was ice on her skin not a hand, she didn’t feel that response. It was strange, in that it was almost the opposite in fact, that she didn’t want to push Clarke away; she wanted to pull her _closer_.

The thought startled her, making her even jump a little. Turns out Clarke was a light sleeper, or maybe she was already half-awake, because the small movement had her head popping up. She narrowed her eyes in the morning sun; her hair messed up and even had a few tiny twigs dangling in the curls.

She still looked so stunningly gorgeous that Lexa could only stare.

When her eyes finally adjusted to the light, her eyelids reluctantly retreating, she looked down at Lexa. Their faces barely counted as an inch apart. Clarke could see the jaded green so clearly from this distance, could see the slight dirt smudged under her eye and the mess of stray hairs from not brushing her hair for two days.

But she still looked so stunningly beautiful that Clarke could only stare.

For a breath, or two, they did just that. Just stared. Maybe both of them knew it in the back of the heads that this would the last time. Because when they stared at each other it wasn’t with a lust, or a sizzling passion.

But something softer than that, gentler than that.

They stared at each other; trying to memorize each speck of dust in each other’s eyes, remember the curve of their jaw and the slope of their nose. Tried to imprint their very image into their own minds, so they’ll never forget, never lose this person that they found.

And when their eyes both dropped to each other’s lips, Aden barked loudly and the spell was dropped. With a sigh that Lexa couldn’t tell what was filled with, Clarke roughly got up to feet, swaying a bit from having just woken up. When her balance came rushing back and her staggers straightened out, she tapped Aden on the side.

“What is it?” she muttered groggily. Though it was said with such a roughness Lexa wondered whether it was a growl. Aden must have heard it too, because he growled right back. Lexa was sitting up when she saw Clarke’s lip pull back, revealing her teeth in a way she had never seen before. Like she could hurt things with them, tear into things with them. She didn’t even have to make a sound, the hiss, the snarl that seemed like ball and chain with a look like that. He just whined a single long whine, and the face was gone, a hand scratching the spot he loved just behind his ear. “Got you nervous has it?” Clarke said, and though she didn’t say it out loud Lexa could sense the apology in her tone. Aden whimpered lightly, and Clarke crouched down so she was at his height.

Lexa, with a few grunts, got herself up on her feet. Well, her foot, until she hopped over to her crutches and was able to ‘walk’ again. She kicked some of the charcoal logs in the long dead fire as she made her way over, taking a moment to just let the cool breeze wash over.

One thing she’ll really miss when she goes back home is the smell. God the _smell,_ it was so clean! She could smell the grass, the trees, hell; she could even smell the tangy scent of burnt wood from when she nudged the dead fire. Towns, cities, you don’t get that. You don’t get that _freshness_ , that distinct nip in the air that you only get when the trees are close enough to hug.

She was going miss to that, as well as other things.

Lexa walked over to Clarke, her heart twitching when she heard what Clarke was speaking. Trigedasleng.

“ _Chit yu gaf, Aiden? Chit don yu sen in?_ ” she whispered, like she was calming down a frightened child. He whined again, letting out a sound that was somewhere between a huff and a snarl. Clarke’s face twisted then, like she’d just smelt something off. “ _Nou bilaik branwoda,_ ” Clarke dismissed, and Aden’s head fell like she was right, he was being foolish. But Lexa could see. Could see how Clarke didn’t quite believe it. That whatever she was putting off about Aden, it had stuck in her head, and even if she told him to forget it, she wouldn’t. Clarke, seeming to suddenly remember Lexa was there, stood back up to her full height.

There was something different this time.

Some caution, some nervousness in her eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Come,” she said, waving her hand. “Breakfast.”

Lexa, raising a brow, followed her. She had cast a quick glance back though, saw Aden sitting right next to Clarke’s bag, his eyes dead set in a way that meant it was _his_ and no one or thing could touch it. Lexa smiled ever so slightly at that. They paced through the bush for a short while, not straying too far from where they had set up camp last night. Suddenly Clarke stopped, and Lexa was glad that after a day or two she had gotten used to crutches, otherwise she would probably be on the ground right now. Clarke knelt down by a small white looking flower, and when she glanced up to Lexa she pulled it out. It wasn’t just a flower though; it had roots sprouting from under it, a gangly potato like shape hanging from them. As she stood up she held it out to Lexa, like a prize, like she had just one a million-dollar cruise.

Lexa gently took it from Clarke’s hands. “Thanks?”

Clarke chuckled then, shaking her head at this lost stranger. “It’s edible. Come on, help me find some more.” Lexa opened her mouth to say something but Clarke had already turned around, and with an all-to-familiar whistle Aden came barreling towards them, a bag hanging clamped between his teeth. She took it with a grateful smile; Aden’s tail wagging profusely at the praise. She swung it over her shoulder, her bow and quiver attached like it had been before.

They went searching for more of the turnip-looking plant. It’s leaves seemed to look like parsley, and Clarke and Lexa scoured every inch of near bush land to find enough to fill their shirts, pulling them out and folding them on themselves as a make-shift bucket. When they were done, Clarke led them back out of the cover of the trees, back by the riverside. They sat down then, and Lexa used a nearby stone to set her leg on.

As it turns out, when Clarke had finished washing them, the turnip-plant things weren’t half bad. They were juicy and sweet, and Lexa scoffed down two of them without trouble. Maybe she was picking habits off Clarke, the profoundly _un_ lady-like way she ate. The way you ate when you had no one to tell you off for eating too fast, that you’ll stain your new shirt. When they were done, Lexa gave Clarke a satisfied nod, something Clarke had laughed loudly at.

On the outside, Lexa scowled. But secretly she loved it.

Aden padded over to her side, looking up with those big eyes that he knew was her weak point. And it was, because soon she was scratching behind his ear and rubbing his belly and forgetting, for a few moments, that he ever was a ferocious predator that could kill her in a heartbeat if he wanted to. Clarke dug through her bag, pulling out a clean roll of cloth and more of that horribly painful mixture, rolling her eyes when she saw Aden lying on his back with his tongue out, Lexa giggling and scratching his stomach.

On the outside, Clarke sighed. But secretly she loved it.

She fell to her knees next to Lexa, and when Lexa saw what Clarke was holding she inwardly hissed. Clarke, giving her a look that said ‘it is what it is’, began unrolling the now old bloodstained cloth. It stung, but Lexa was never one to show pain, and after a while she didn’t really feel it. Clarke paused for a moment though, her hand frozen with the water skin. She stared at the wound, her brows furrowed, and Lexa wondered what had her thinking so hard. She was actually about to ask, but then Clarke had shaken her head at herself and was cleaning the wound, which was beginning to look less like a panther had ripped its way into and more like a wild dog had.

You take the little victories.

She put on the paste, Clarke handing her a stick to bite into like always, and like always Lexa took it sheepishly, her pride, even as it got beaten down again and again, always coming back to show its face and prove that its there. Then, with incredibly delicate fingers that Lexa didn’t understand could simultaneously string a bow, slice meat, and draw on to cave and walls, she watched silently as Clarke rewrapped the wound.

Lexa had seen Clarke’s art, whether she wanted her to or not.

They were always of nature, which wasn’t exactly surprising, since it’s the only resource she has, but ever now and again she’ll find this little girl hiding on a tree. When they had first left the cave, the nearby trees were littered with these drawings, with these sketches. They weren’t too detailed, they _were_ on wood, but they were still so beautiful Lexa had to stop a moment to look at each one.

And it was the ones with the little girl that always catches her attention.

She’s doing different things each time. Riding a bike, reading a book, sitting on a swing. Always doing something that doesn’t involve nature, this world.

This girl is always in the city.

Lexa wonder’s how Clarke knows what the city looks like.

If that’s where she wants to be.

Clarke helped Lexa to her feet, and this time she tested out her foot, to see if she could walk on it and bear the pain. She almost immediately hissed, her foot lurching off the ground as if it was lava. Not yet it seemed. Not ready for walking yet. Sighing, Lexa took the crutches and put them under her arms, the joints now sore from always pushing in.

“Your camp is close now.” Clarke said, and from the way she said it, Lexa didn’t know whether Clarke was happy about that statement. Lexa didn’t know if she was happy with the statement herself. But she forced herself to think of her family, of the people who would be missing her so much, be worried sick. And with those thoughts in her head, she nodded, gritted her teeth, and began walking the final journey.

Clarke lingered a bit longer, watched Lexa’s back as it moved away. She sighed with every ounce of soul, of her pounding heart, and she followed. Catching up, till she was right by Lexa’s side.

They locked eyes, of course, like they always do. They stared into them like they always do, one of them getting lost and the other roping them in. And then they turned away like they always do, and pretended everything was exactly same.

That nothing had changed.

When really, everything had.

-

Two hours had passed until something noticeable had happened.

It was small, that moment, had come and gone so quick it shouldn’t have _really_ been that memorable. But it was, because Lexa had gotten another piece of Clarke’s history in that moment.

They were walking by the river, following its trail. Clarke had said that when she found first found her, when the panther was dead next to her and her leg was bleeding out like crazy, Clarke had followed the river to get back home. So, now, they were following the river, retracting her steps.

It wasn’t a bad plan, Lexa quite liked it actually. It meant that when she needed a break there was always a rock or two around to go collapse on, and Clarke, ever patient, would go find a rock to sit on too. She would always choose one close to Lexa.

Neither commented on it.

Lexa was actually feeling like maybe they were due in for another break, the blisters on hand full and irritated. And really, she was just about to raise her voice, to wave the white flag.

When out of the blue, there was a howl.

And it wasn’t Aden.

All three heads of the group snapped to the side, the opposite side of the river. And there standing proud on a rock, his bare chest puffed out and head held high, was a black wolf. Behind him, was his pack. They ranged from white to red, though mostly stuck in the brown shaggy blonde colour like Aden. All of the wolfs head’s, they were on them, on each one of them.

Lexa especially.

Clarke had stepped forward when she saw that; saw across the water the twitch in the black wolf’s nose. She stepped right in front of Lexa, like she was shielding her from an invisible bullet. Lexa had half a mind to push Clarke aside, but something inside of her pushed against it, against the stupid efforts of pride, dragging its wrist back and sitting it down. The black wolf didn’t move, just kept staring. But his sight now moved between Clarke and Lexa. And Lexa could feel it, could taste the very tension in the air.

And then, in the most bizarre of displays, the black wolf nodded. Actually bobbed his head. Then him and his pack was running, running so gorgeously fast down the hill, their fur whipping behind them and making them blurs in the daylight, before the trees swallowed them whole.

Lexa saw Clarke watched them run, saw something shift in her face.

Pain she thinks it was. Or longing, perhaps.

Clarke had stood, still as a pole, not moving a muscle and just kept staring at where the wolves had disappeared. Aden was staring at it too, but after a while he forced his line of sight back, rubbing his head against Clarke’s leg. It didn’t work. Clarke still kept looking. Lexa had called her name then, softly, delicately, the worry unable to stay out of her voice.

And that seemed to finally shake her out of her it.

Clarke’s head snapped onto Lexa’s, and when it lingered long enough that Lexa could see the wetness in her eyes, Clarke was wiping her face with the back of her hand and walking again. Lexa followed numbly, at a loss of what to do. She wanted to help Clarke, to make her feel better somehow, but she had no idea how. She didn’t even know what was troubling her. Was she afraid of the wolves? Was she afraid that they were about to kill us, that we had nearly died? Lexa thought of a thousand, almost a million scenarios, but none of them were even close to the actual truth.

When they were off the river path, now cutting straight through woods, Clarke finally spoke again.

“Family.”

Lexa had turned to her, her brows creasing. “What do you mean?”

“The wolves back there,” her breath caught. She cast those painfully blue eyes on Lexa, her lip caught in her teeth. “They were my family.”

Lexa was silent. At the admission she didn’t know what to say. Her mouth opened, then shut, unable to form the right words.

Raised by wolves?

“It’s been a while since I’ve seem them. Since I left the pack, Aden coming with me.” She gave him a small smile, as if he could understand. Lexa looked between the two, something she hadn’t quite seen before, emerging in new light. _Brother and sister_. That was the bond they had, one that ran deeper than just a man and dog. No, Clarke had been raised by his parents most likely, lived with him, grew with him. Lexa almost struggled to breathe, but she tried her best to. Because Clarke had given her this, told her this without prompt. Without question.

It was all she had ever wanted. And she wasn’t going to ruin it now.

So Lexa nodded, as that was all she could do. Clarke nodded back. And Aden, well, he turned around, if only for a moment.

And he too, offered a small bob of the head.

A nod.

As words were both too much and not enough for something like this.

-

When Lexa began to reconginse the trees, the rock where she knelt down by only days ago, felt the dip in the earth, the shape of the panther paw. She stopped, grabbed Clarke by the back of her shirt to maker her stop too. Clarke did, without question, just watching her curiously. Lexa took off her crutches, let herself sit on the rock. After a bit she bent down, glided her fingers through the dirt.

There, the print.

Almost gone, but still there. She didn’t whether to laugh or cry.

“We’re close now. Are your friends waiting for you?” Clarke asked, like she was expecting them to be there, waiting for their friend in the woods to come back. And Clarke tried, at least for a heartbeat, to make her voice harsh and bitter. But it didn’t work, the words instead holding the sadness that was impossible to wring out.

“I don’t know,” Lexa replied, grabbing her crutches and standing back up. “Maybe? There’s a good chance of it I guess.”

Clarke bobbed her head, like that was what she was expecting. They kept walking, kept moving, but their steps were slower this time. Lexa knew Clarke was taking her time with her paces, and Clarke knew that Lexa was doing the same. Dancing the same dance, to completely different music. For some reason, Lexa didn’t say the million things she wanted to say to Clarke. She didn’t ask the million questions she wanted to ask, she didn’t do the millions of things she should have done in that moment, in that breath, in that bubble, between the camp and them. Because each step was like a ticking to a bomb, a grain of sand soundlessly falling and landing into the faceless heap. Instead they were silent.

And in some ways, it was better.

In others it was worse.

And just when they reached it, the final line of trees, Lexa built the courage to speak. Except almost instantly Clarke’s hand was on her mouth and she was dragging her down to the ground. It was painful, yes, _god_ it was painful, but before Lexa could snap at her she found the reason why Clarke had done it, and kept her mouth shut.

People, men and woman, clad in a black military uniform. They were pacing around the camp space, a couple sitting by the unlit fire, just talking on the sideways logs. Others were milling about, some marching, some even just on their phones. And at first, Lexa thought they were police. Her heart pounded in her chest, in the hope that she’d soon be home. But also in the sadness that she’d soon be home. She shut her eyes, like that would force the emotion out, and focused on the joy she should be feeling, the happiness. But Clarke was backing away, and she was grabbing Lexa by the shirt like she had before, taking her with her. Lexa tapped the hand away, but Clarke just grabbed her shirt it again, tugging and tugging her back. With a growl Lexa gave in, flicking her hands and, as quiet as she could, slid her crutches under her arms and followed Clarke away from the police.

Except when they were a little bit away, and were able to talk again, Lexa saw the look in Clarke’s eye, the fear.

“What is it?” Lexa asked, though a part of her already knew. Knew that they weren’t police.

Clarke was very, very still. Her eyes jumped everywhere though, like a paranoid rabbit on crack, bouncing, bouncing, bouncing. That is, until they landed on Lexa and they stopped. She opened her mouth and tried her speak, her tongue failing her. Clearing her throat she tried again.

“Mountain Men.” She said, with venom so thick, so intense Lexa actually flinched. Clarke was moving again, Lexa followed, followed as they went _away_ from the camp and not _towards_. She tried to keep up with her, Aden at least staying by her side, but every step Clarke would take the next one would be faster. Like dread was a physical thing on her back, breathing down her neck and on her spine.

“Who are they?” Lexa called, panting now. Clarke didn’t reply, and it was beginning to get on Lexa’s nerves. She had trusted her blindly this far, but turning away, away from her only way home – it was too much.

Lexa stopped walking.

“ _Who_ are they?” she repeated, not moving a foot, a muscle. Clarke spun around; somehow instantly knowing she had stopped. Her mouth was in a tight thin line, her eyes harder and harsher than she had ever seen before. It was terrifying, but Lexa was also terrifying herself. Her eyes, like Clarke, spoke defiance. Anger.

“Mountain Men. Listen we have to go-“

“No, no you’re not listening. _Who_ are they Clarke? Why are we turning away? Are they not police?”

Clarke just looked at her, knowing that Lexa was smart enough to know they definitely _were not_. Lexa sighed, slapping her arms to the side the best she could with crutches.

“Okay, fine, I know that one, but I’m not turning around on my only chance back home without an explanation.”

Clarke stared at her, hard. Her eyes like guns themselves, firing and firing and firing. And missing and missing and missing. “They… are very bad people.” Clarke muttered, like each word tasted like acid in her mouth. She wanted to spit it out, but knew the taste wouldn’t leave.

“That’s not an explanation.” Lexa deadpanned. And when Clarke didn’t move, just stood with that icy stare, Lexa turned around. She was done, she was _done_ with whatever game they were playing. She’s going home, and she’s not letting a mysterious raised by wolves girl take her away from that. For a moment, Lexa thought just that was going to happen. That she was going home, that the last memory of Clarke to her was going to be her scowl.

Except, Clarke spoke. Like a whisper in the dark.

“They killed my father.”

And the way she spoke it, the way it rolled wrongly in her mouth, Lexa knew it was true. Lexa stopped, turning around slowly. “The Mountain Men?”

“Them.” She said, bobbing her head in the direction of her camp, where these Mountain Men were calling home. “And they’re going to kill me too. So we need to leave. _Now._ ”

Lexa stared blankly at her. Aden, still sitting by her side. Like Clarke had told him to when she thought Lexa wasn’t listening. When she had been washing those turnip-plants, Aden humming by her side.

“ _Shil ep em,_ ” She had whispered to the wolf, but not quiet enough that Lexa hadn’t caught it. “ _Nou ban op em sad._ ”

And here, still standing by her side was Aden, doing his job. Lexa heaved a painful sigh, dipping her head in defeat. “Okay, we’re to now-“

Something hard hit on her head and she slammed into the ground like there had been a rope around her neck, that gravity had grown tired of letting her roam free and had finally decided to bring her down in one swift go. Aden burst in action first, Clarke for a moment frozen still.

She saw Lexa, motionless on the ground, and the five mountain men swarming in on them.

And then the spell snapped and Lexa’s eyes fluttered open to see Clarke pull her lip back, saw her show her teeth in a way she had only seen once before. But this time, a snarl came with it. And it shook the very earth, was so deep and somehow so guttural and powerful that the nearby birds in the trees flew away, desperate to get away from such a creature. Such a beast.

Because when Clarke began tearing into those men, jumping onto their backs and grabbing knives off belts, forcing their own hands into chests, aiming their own guns at their heads.

Lexa saw it in snapshots, the fight. But stood out so clearly, was Clarke, was the way her eyes were darker than she had ever seen. The way that when she was left standing, panting, with blood up her arms and smeared on her mouth, that was when Lexa knew she really, truly, she had been raised by wolves.

Clarke rushed over to her side, lifting Lexa’s face up, making sure was responding. Lexa groaned, pushing Clarke away, showing that she was fine and could get up. Well, she tried to show; she fell down halfway, her wounded ankle betraying her. Lexa hissed, in pain and in frustration. She wasn’t deaf, had heard the gunshots Clarke had set off, could hear the panic shouting’s of the men back in the camp, sprinting their way over.

A patrol had run into them, by chance. But now everyone knew where they were, how _close_ they were.

And Clarke shook her head, and she hissed in frustration too.

“Go,” Lexa breathed, because she knew, she knew they needed run. And running she couldn’t do. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“No,” Clarke said, and then she shook her head. “No.”

Lexa kept telling her to go, to leave, that she should save herself. That she didn’t have a chance, not with these legs. But Clarke did. And she needed to fucking _run._

“Go!” Lexa yelled, and she was screaming now, pleading, but Clarke still shook her head. And then Clarke took a steadying breath, took a glance at Aden, that was standing guard in front of them, like he had been told, doing his job. _Protecting her_.

“Clarke you need to-“

“I’m sorry,” Clarke murmured, and muttered it over and over again. As she did, she placed her hands over Lexa’s ankle. They were getting close now, Jesus they were barely a breath away. If Clarke stayed, they were both dead.

“Fucking run Clarke!” Lexa snarled, but Clarke shook her head, like she always did. And then she looked to the skies and shut her eyes.

“I’m sorry Dad.” She whispered and then where Clarke’s hands were, where the monstrous wound on her ankle was, suddenly felt very hot. Extremely hot, burning even, and like lava on her very skin. She didn’t yell, and she didn’t hiss, because it hurt but it didn’t. It somehow sat in the middle, leaning in. And Clarke was sweating like crazy now, like it had appeared out of nowhere, dripping from her forehead, onto her hair. The burning got worse, got so close to the point of pain that Lexa almost screamed, and just when she was about to, Clarke’s hands were gone. She grabbed Lexa by the arm, hauled her up, and ran.

At first Lexa was screaming at her to let go, that she needed her crutches, that it hurt.

But it didn’t.

Because she didn’t need her crutches. Because her ankle felt completely fine.

And she was _running._

Aden was sprinting beside her, Clarke’s hand still tightly clasped to Lexa’s, like it was only thing keeping her alive. And for a moment, everything seemed to click. Like that final puzzle was clicking into place, that after all those years of staring at that dusty cardboard box filled with a half-finished jigsaw your mind was too weak to solve. But now it knew, oh _now_ it knew. It suddenly knew where all the pieces went, where they clicked.

And it all clicked, for a second.

For a single, beautiful, second.

Then it all fell apart.

A man from out of nowhere lunged at Clarke, like he had been waiting behind one of the trees. Lexa didn’t have to time to check this theory though, because she was out of his grip a moment later, palming the dagger at her side and slamming into his neck. Blood sprayed onto her hand, and went so far that it touched Lexa’s face too. And for a moment, Lexa stood, stunned having never seen someone die before. Let alone _killed._

But moments were a luxury, one that she shouldn’t have wasted.

The Mountain Men came swarming in like a wave, their guns raised and ready to fire. But something held them back, probably Lexa, she thought, how there was a civilian with the one that needed to be killed, that they couldn’t kill her, not the innocent. It meant that they couldn’t shoot at them from behind without risking a bullet hitting Lexa. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t shoot from the sides. Clarke could see what this situation was turning to be, a blood bath, a dead end, something where she won’t make out of. Though it’s not that that she cares about, she cares about the girl running behind her, holding her hand, that she’s going to get caught in the blood bath too.

There’s only one-way out of this, and that’s up.

She was about to do it, and blow it all to hell, to do the one thing she had sworn she would never do, only in _extreme_ emergencies.

Or when no ones looking. But this wasn’t a time like that.

But just as she flexed her back, prepared for the pain, she heard something she she never, ever wanted to hear.

Aden’s pained whine.

They had shot his leg. He fell to the ground, leafs and dirt flying up in the air. And Clarke, she knew they had to keep going, that they had to leave him behind. That this was their only chance at getting away, that she was _this_ close.

But she couldn’t do that, because it was Aden.

And Lexa was already pulling her back anyway.

When Lexa had turned around, saw the blood leaking terribly steadily from the wound in his thigh she had dropped to the ground, pulled his head up onto her legs. Her eyes snapped onto Clarke’s, pleading, _begging_ for her to do what she did before. And Clarke nodded, her eyes speaking for her.

 _Not now._ They said. _Need to get away_.

Lexa picked him up, Aden wheezing as she did, and cradled him like Clarke had cradled her across the river. She put her hand over the wound, holding it as tight as she could. Clarke was using the gun from the guard she had killed few trees back, shooting anything that moved. It left her dangerously open, so she hid behind a tree, popping out and in. Bullets flew by her ear, leaving a ringing that rattled her eardrums. She heaved Aden’s body up, gritting her teeth and running, fuck, just running as hard as she could. Clarke was back at her side, still firing bullets, still just dodging them.

And then, just when they were about to make it to the river, where they could have a chance at losing them, Clarke saw it a minute too late. She saw the soldier creep up through the side when she had been so focused on the back, and she saw him, saw the whites of his eyes through his ski mask. And she saw, and she cried, when he shot out a net that captured Lexa so perfectly, sending her, and Aden tumbling to the ground.

She shot that soldier straight through the head.

Clarke stumbled over to them, her breathing so ragged and broken it sounded like a dying seal. She scrambled onto the ground, wasting precious, precious time trying to get the stupid bloody net off. Aden wasn’t helping, yipping and barking in distress, and it made her flinch every time she heard the fear in that sound.

“Help me!” Clarke practically screamed, and Lexa tried, shit, she tried with all she had. Eventually when her fingernails were about to start bleeding, the net was off. Lexa almost burst in happy tears right there. Clarke smiled, weakly, forcefully, like it’ll all be okay, they’ll make it.

But then Clarke looked up, saw how many there were.

And Lexa looked up too.

She saw how they had been sprinting up a hill, that in the midst of the chaos she hadn’t even noticed. But she did now, she noticed how they were at the very top, that at the other side, it dips down. That if she pushed someone, they’d fall. And they’d be okay at the end of it.

Especially if they could heal themselves.

Lexa knew it was stupid, but it was the only logical choice, and this time head over heart was a matter of survival, though, perhaps, heart had a little to do with it. Clarke brought Lexa back to her feet, smiling hopefully the entire way, and when she was on them, she put Aden in Clarke’s arms, said sorry, and pushed.

And Clarke was gone, rolling down the hill.

Lexa turned back around, saw the mountain men coming closer, so very, very close now.

She shut her eyes, and she blew out a long breath.

“Be safe Clarke,” she muttered.

And then, the wave of mountain men swallowed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah.. hope you guys liked it!  
> next chapter will be lexas ~wonderfuly gay~ rescue, and clarkes backstory!  
> also ive grown attached to wolf aden so he won't be dying or anything drastic anytime soon dont worry (who would kill a kid anyway? oh wait... jrat would. not that im bitter)  
> also those red berries in this chap is me venting because they grow in our garden but they poisonous as fuck? the betrayal? the fuck australia?
> 
> Translations? Translations.  
> Chit yu gaf, Aiden? Chit don yu sen in? - What is it, Aden? What did you hear?  
> Nou bilaik branwoda - Don't be foolish  
> Shil ep em - Protect her  
> Nou ban op em sad - Never leave her side


	3. If Only You Would Let Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this was not meant to be 25k but apparently my dumb ass keeps going on tangents and here we are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i fucked up alright. i thought that 2 small vague dot points planning would barely make up 5k, let alone fucking 20. so ive had to cut this off before it grew into some 40k shitstorm or something so just go with it alright ok im soRRY  
> ranting aside, enjoy lads!  
> (i even wrote some of this in a restaurant while receiving constant looks from my polish raised-in-mexico mother so yall should appreciate the lengths i go to)  
> (also if you wanna listen to song i listened too while writing its The xx - Performance) (ps their new album is fucking ace and you should go check it out)

She was left when she was five.

She wasn’t left out of hate, out of spite or disgust; really she was left out of something that was completely the opposite. She was left out of love.

Once, she had two parents.

A man with scruffy blonde hair, his eyes such an intense blue it wasn’t a surprise when they leaked into his daughters, and a brunette with a knife as a tongue, who could destroy everything you are, and will be, with a single word and twist of the lips. Her father, Jake, was the one that had decided she needed to be abandoned. That it was stupid to keep thinking that they could escape the danger that was constantly following them, that nipped at their heels with bullets and guns. Her mother, Abby, had actually slapped him when he brought it up. They had been kneeling behind a concrete wall, blood leaking steadily from the scar on Jake’s head, a gift from the attack of the end of a rifle. Abby reached deep into her fraying pockets, chucking the napkin over to him to wipe away at the wound.

“I’m sensing a pattern here Abby,” Jake had coughed, the bruise from the punch in the throat beginning to show itself.

Abby chuckled dryly, clutching the sniffling child tighter to her chest. “Really? This seems like such a surprise.”

Jake had laughed at that, but it was cut off with a sudden explosion, debris and dust suddenly raining down on them. The girl in Abby’s arms wailed, Abby only able to offer a soothing rub against her back as they scrambled up to their feet and sprinted as fast they could. The parents took turns carrying their child, only swapping when the weight of her in one of their arms grew so intense that they grew numb, almost impossible to feel.

They ran till their legs had given out from under them.

And when they couldn’t run anymore, the girl’s father and mother locked eyes, a thousand messages travelling between their irises before what she could only guess to be her mother caving and wrapping her arms around her husband’s neck. Their little girl squeezed tightly between them. Abby would smile weakly, stroke and tuck away one of the many knots in her daughter’s hair, before giving in and shutting her eyes.

And when she opens them she’s suddenly in a completely different place.

When they began walking again, steps so slow and lagged they barely counted as moving, Jake had spoken. His words somehow even more exhausted than his body.

“We can’t do this anymore.”

Abby had froze, her daughter asleep with her face buried into the crook of her neck. She didn’t turn to face him.

Jake sighed. “Abby we can’t-“

“Don’t.”

It was only one syllable, but the power the word held was unfathomable. That word, it carried the weight of a thousand, all bearing the same, unchanging, message. _No_.

“It’s been years Abby. _Five_ years. We’re only alive out of luck.” His voice didn’t hold the warmth it should hold, that it usually held. The brunette, still turned away, remained silent.

“And what do you suggest?” she whispered.

But it wasn’t a whisper. It was a challenge.

To see if he’d do it, if he’d cross that uncrossable line, if he’d stand on the other side with nothing but pride coiled in his fists. So Jake heaved a long, deep sigh. He felt the air rush into his dry lungs, felt it flush down his airways and break out through his lips, not quite as pure as it had been before. He edged close enough till he was in front of her, and maybe, maybe she already knew what he was going to say, because Abby put her daughter down.

“We leave her.”

And that was when she slapped him.

They argued continually after that. At the start, their words were loud and harsh, crashing against the frail walls that stood around them, threatening to crack from the sheer intensity. At the start, they’d wait till their daughter was asleep; they’d wait till she was quietly left alone in another room with nothing but a crayon and blank piece of paper, because they knew that would be distraction, entertainment, enough. At the start, she pretended not to hear their voices booming so indescribably loudly through the thin doors.

Though eventually, their voices began to quiet down.

But the arguments were not just restricted to shouting matches anymore.

Now they were constant. They became darker, smarter, hidden in the way one of them would smile, the way one of them would sigh, would shake their head. And no longer would they be disguised from their child, no longer did they pretend like their little girl didn’t press her ear up against the door and listen to every venomous word they’d said.

It went on like this for months.

The anger, once strong, began to dull. The sneer that Abby would spit became weak, Jake’s sigh when he looked between Abby and his daughter, forced. Exhaustion, and it’s sinister companion defeat moved in with them and hung in the air like dust, sneaking into lungs and blocking out the light, growing, ever so surely, with each passing day as it was left unaddressed. Only when they had been discovered once more, when they had been hidden high up in the mountains themselves with not a shred of technology on them, did one of them finally cave.

And like before, it all came down to a single syllable with a power that shook the very earth.

_Okay._

Jake wasn’t happy he had won.

Like always, they were on the run. They had ditched a stolen car, now ridden in bullet holes, and like always Abby had closed her eyes only to open them to entirely new environment. But unlike before, one of them was injured. Severely injured.

Jake had been shot.

It was half way up the sloping hill when he finally collapsed, the dwindling strength in him fighting in its last reserves. Abby rushed over to his side, still cradling her daughter in one of her arms as she bent down and tried to pull him up, begging him, pleading with him, to keep on going. He put on a shaky smile, but he soon fell into a manic coughing fit. Blood splattered the green grass below. When he was on his feet again, he asked to carry their daughter. Abby hesitated.

“Jake you’re… you’re not strong enough,” she said carefully, eyeing the patch of red in his stomach. It made her own stomach drop.

He waved her off with a scoff. “I’ll be fine, let me carry her.”

“Jake you’re-“

“Abbs,” he sucked in a sharp breath. “Please.”

When she heard the crack in his voice, she realised what he was actually asking. Treacherous tears pricked her eyes but she didn’t let them fall. She knelt down, gently prying the girl’s hands off her neck and putting her on the ground. The girl whined in protest, her blonde curls swaying as she steadied herself against the angle of the hill. Jake smiled that special smile, one that only ever slipped out with his daughter, one that was only reserved for her. Abby swallowed down a sob.

“Come on Princess, it’s daddy’s turn.”

Even though she was still mid-whine from being cut off from her nap, she padded over to her father and fell into his arms without a second thought. He wrapped his arms around her, scooping her up and moving her so her chin rested on his shoulder. He was slow to get up to his feet, and as he did with gritted teeth, as his feet almost slipped and his arms began to shake, he casted a quick glance over to his wife.

Abby was just staring at him. But he could see.

He could see the fear in her eyes.

And that horrible defeat.

They pushed their rest of the way up the hill, their pace significantly slower than before. When Jake’s usually calm breaths morphed into more erratic pants Abby had stopped him, rounding his side she gripped his waist, offering any kind of support.

“I can hold her,” she breathed, her brow knotting when she noticed how truly pale he had gotten. But Jake had grinned that same proud grin, his eyes showing none of the fear and agony that he so clearly felt. Perhaps he was just putting on a brave face, dead set on not letting his daughter see anything weak in him, perhaps, a brave face was all he had left.

“I got her.” He winked, and Abby could only click her tongue and shake her head. A smile still spread on her face from his antics. It soon fell.

The sun was teetering near the edge of the tree line when they finally made it, though, made it where, Abby didn’t quite know. The woman frowned as she surveyed the area around them, only spotting the mouth of a cave and, if she looked far enough, the beginnings of a river with running water twinkling so incredibly below. She turned back in time to see Jake fall to his knees, saw him as he pulled their daughter off him with trembling hands.

Jake groaned, unable to stifle the sound any longer.

“There you go Clarkey,” Jake wheezed. “Road trip over.”

Clarke, tilting her head to the side like a confused puppy, watched curiously as her father carefully unwound his watch from his wrist. Abby watched too, but instead of watching with curiosity she forced herself to turn away and brought a hand up to her mouth.

“ _Chit yu dula?_ ” Clarke mumbled, and though Jake tried to hide it he ended in failing as a proud smile broke out on his face. In the instances between jumping motel rooms, he had been trying to teach her trigedasleng, the language he was taught as he grew up. Back in his day he used to live in a town called Polis, and really you were only accepted there if you spoke their own special language. He had learnt it from his father. He had always wanted to teach Clarke it, though a part of him knew it wasn’t just his doing that she was picking it up so well. There was another one, but every time he thought of it, it brought him back to the reason why they were on the run. Why he was being hunted, and his family along with him. He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, knowing that he didn’t have long.

“This is a gift,” he started, putting the watch into her small hands. Her shining eyes locked with his. It took of all his strength not to just pick her up and run the entire length back home.

“But… it’s yours,” she whispered, like the idea of him giving it to her was incomprehensible. She tried to push it back to him, but he didn’t let her.

He shook his head. “No, it’s yours now. You must always keep it with you, understand? You can never lose it, never break it.”

“I-I won’t,” Clarke stuttered. Jake raised a brow at her, and the little five-year-old girl schooled her features as tough as she could muster. “I won’t.” She promised again, but with her bravest, strongest voice. With pride in his paling eyes, Jake nodded.

“Good. Now, I need you to promise me something.”

Clarke bobbed her head, Abby finally turning her head in their direction.

“You know how we’ve always told you how special you are, how you are different from everyone else?” Clarke nodded at him. Jake took a quick breath, as if from oxygen alone he could somehow grow the strength to the force the words that were stubbornly stuck in his throat. Because he knew that after this, after this there would nothing more to say. And he’d have to leave. Possibly in more than one sense. “You must never forget that. And you must never forget that no one can know you’re special. You can never do your special things in public, in front of another person. Never, are you to reveal yourself.”

Clarke rolled her eyes like the child she was. “We already talked about this Dad.”

“No Clarke, listen to me,” he leaned forward, gently, but firmly, grabbing her by the shoulders. She had nowhere to look but in his eyes. “Promise me, you’ll never reveal yourself. _Never_.”

“I promise.” Clarke sighed, unease crawling up her spine having never really seen her father so serious. Something in his face shifted, something that wasn’t quite human.

 _“_ Promise me Clarke.” He muttered. She felt something rise in her chest, though she had no idea what, like something was calling it there, grabbing its hand and forcing its pale face out into the open. It rattled her, and the fear must have flickered across her face because the strange look in her father’s eye was suddenly gone.

“I promise,” she said again. It wasn’t as loud as before, wasn’t full of that bravery and confidence she had forced into his voice not seconds ago. But, somehow, it was stronger than any other promise she had ever made. It barely rose above a whisper, and yet when she said it the word seemed to ring through every bone in her body, sing through every passageway of blood, wrote itself in every inch of her skin.

It seemed that was it. That was enough. Jake smiled, one that was worn and tired. He lifted a hand to her cheek, lightly brushing his thumb. “ _Ai hod yu in skaiprisa._ ”

“I love you too,” Clarke whispered, though very confused as to why her father was saying those words like that. She didn’t quite trust it. Abby finally came down to his side, crouching next to Jake. She looked over him, noticed the sweat dripping down the sides of his face, the eerie paleness in his once glowing cheeks. Her sight dropped lower, and she just barely hid in her gasp when she saw the small pool of blood that had formed at his knees. Clarke hadn’t noticed yet. When she turned her gaze over to her daughter, saw the swipe of red on her cheek, she gulped.

“We don’t have to you know,” she said softly. She knew it was pointless, but she couldn’t stop herself. The idea of leaving Clarke alone for a few hours had her biting her nails, the notion of leaving all her together – how the hell was she meant to deal with that? Go along with such a thing? Jake didn’t turn to her, just kept smiling and moving his hand to ruffle his daughter’s hair. She pushed him away with a giggle.

“If we don’t she’s dead.”

Abby stayed silent.

When the sun began to truly set, and the blue in the skies began to bleed red, Jake knew that he couldn’t put it off any longer. Originally, he made a move to stand up, but his legs barely moved when he commanded them too, the slightest adjustment shooting off waves of pain from his stomach. Instead, he simply leaned back.

And then, he let out a long, high-pitched, whistle.

Clarke merely frowned at the sound, but Abby had to clutch at her ears. A flock of birds suddenly flew from their home in a long tree, the whistle crashing straight through. It echoed and bounced over the land itself, and while it may have sounded like simply that, just a sound, to other ears it was something so much more. Something stronger, deeper.

It was a message. A calling.

But not for humans.

Jake, with his daughter sitting in his lap and Abby crouching beside him, his back now lined up against the wall, waited quietly. They waited till the sun disappeared completely, Clarke asleep and snoring ever so slightly into Jake’s neck. With Clarke out and unable to hear, Abby found the effort to truly speak about what was going happen, not to Clarke, but to him. It was partly to pass the time, but also partly because she needed him awake. If he nodded out, Abby didn’t know if he’d ever come back.

“I need to be cremated.” Jake had mumbled, barely keeping his eyes open. Abby chocked on air beside him.

“Excuse me?” she coughed out, eyes bulging. He chuckled, though it soon morphed into a cough.

“Don’t be stupid Abbs, look at me. We both know where this is going.” He let his head rest against the stone behind him. “This is it for me Abby.”

Denial was the first thing on her tongue. “No. Don’t talk like that. We can… we can get you to a hospital, or you can just, heal yourself, or something.”

“We’re too far out to reach one in time.” He sighed. His sight fell onto the sleeping daughter in his lap. “And you know it doesn’t work like that. I can’t heal myself.”

They didn’t talk much after that.

Not at all really.

For what could you say? What could you say when you know you’re going to have to abandon your child, when you know that one of you aren’t even going to make it out? Something suddenly dawned on Abby, and the feeling struck her so intensely she shook.

“You can’t leave me.” She whispered into the dark.

“I never will.”

“But you are,” Abby replied, and the ends of words cracked into a sob. “You god damn are.”

He shushed her softly, lifting his calloused hand and laying it on her head, gently pulling so she was resting on his shoulder. She stopped holding back her tears. She cried softly into his shoulder, into her husbands shoulder, dreading the moment when it would no longer be there. And it terrified her right to her soul when she realised how soon that was going to be. How very _alone_ she was going to be.

When her cheeks grew dry, and Clarke’s eyes finally blinked awake, they come.

The wolves come.

A pack of them creep their way forward, a pure jet black one at the front. His head is held high; his steps slow as his pack fall behind him, copying his movements, his actions. Their coats flow in the light breeze as they make their way into the cave, the pack seeming to completely ignore the human family.

Except for the black one.

Jake nudged Clarke awake, moving her so to the side so he could pull himself up against the wall. He straightened his back, Abby still stuck close by his side, eyeing the wolf warily. But Jake’s face is soft, grateful even.

The pack watches from inside the cave, but Jake only looks toward the alpha wolf. Slowly, he held out his hand. Abby tightened her hold on his arm, but he shrugged her off, and Clarke, blinking the remains of sleep from her eye, suddenly realised that they aren’t alone. She almost jumped and ran at the sudden company, having a love for animals so deep in her bones it seemed to wrong to question such a desire. But she did, as she saw her father and the black wolf stare each other down, saw as it gently put its head forward into his hand, she knew she shouldn’t intervene. Long, stretched moments pass before anything happens. Clarke had tried her best to remain still, to not scratch the underside of her wrist like she does when she’s nervous. She remembered her Mum telling her off for that. More than once. Instead, she carefully pulled herself up to her feet. Like how her Dad taught her she rolled her foot from heel to toe, to be as quiet as possible, edging her way around the strange black wolf and toward the other ones.

She really just loved playing with animals.

Finally out of her parents immediate view, Clarke bounced for the nearest furry creature. Her first victim is a blonde wolf, like her hair, and its eyes widened only for a second before she collided with it. Her arms instantly wrap around its neck in a hug, but the wolf doesn’t take well to the gesture, and is instantly shaking her off with a ferocious snarl. The sound triggers the rest like a set of dominoes, all suddenly jumping up to four paws, lips pulled and teeth glistening, fangs almost sparkling in the moonlight. Fear bubbled up in her chest but she squashed it down. She pulled herself up to her full height, but before she could do anything someone was grabbing her by the back of her shirt and pulling her back. Of course she instantly struggles and fights, scrambling out of the person’s hold only to find that, it wasn’t a person at all.

It was the black wolf.

And when he looked at her, directly into her eyes, she felt the movement in her chest again. Something that felt different from everything else. She squinted her eyes at wolf, and eventually, as it the reflection in its eyes capture her attention so that she missed that slipping of her parents from behind, she heard it speak.

But not with it’s mouth.

She heard it in her mind.

_‘Strikon, yu sou klir.’_

At first she just blinked. But then she smiled.

“I know. My parents always say that.” At the mention of them, she craned her neck over her wolf, frowning when she saw that her father and mother are suddenly gone. Her legs took only a few small steps before the wolf was shuffling in her path.

‘ _Yu souda rid op.’_ He said. Clarke whined, her voice nothing but innocence and childishness.

“But I’m not tired,” she objected, still trying to catch a look in. Where had her parents gone?

It seemed the black wolf was having none of it, because he simply gripped the bottom of her white shirt with his teeth and tugged her into the direction the cave. The opposite of where she was currently trying to go. With a growl the wolf adjusted its grip on her shirt, moving to her shorts, and with one swift pull had Clarke flying backwards. The other wolves were instantly threatening to close in on her, like a tsunami wave itself, but the black wolf was already in front of her, protecting her, growling with the savagery of beast to any of them who dared a step towards her. The sight is enough for almost all of them to back down, the snarl in their teeth now replaced with a strange softness, a calmness. The black wolf growls till there’s not one left of his pack that defy him, till his is chest rising and falling and his heart pounds so loud that even Clarke, when she tries extra hard with a held breath, can hear it.

The black wolf’s hackles finally lower. He turned her head to her, but she was looking out to the world outside. Looking out to where her parents had last been. Something she didn’t like was sitting in her stomach, as if she had swallowed lead, an entire lead ball that did nothing but pull her down with all its might. It made her uneasy, this feeling.

Later she’d learn for it to be called dread.

Eventually she follows the wolf back, though she constantly glances out, finding a spot in the corner. As she lied down, two wolves, including the black one, move close to her, acting as a blanket and a wall against the cold. When that happened it seemed some invisible tension in the air finally broke away, because the rest pack joined in on the little huddle too, lining their bodies against one another like a spiral.

An hour later, when every one of them falls asleep, Clarke ever so carefully pulled herself up. Her sight jumps to each of the sleeping wolves as she manovours her way through them, just barely missing a tail and rogue outstretched paw as she crept her way through. She padded over to the mouth of the cave.

And just as she opens her jaw to let out a yell, to call for her parents, her foot instead trips on something on the ground. With a scowl, she picked it up.

It was a dictionary. For English.

And when she opened it, the first page that falls open is bookmarked with a small note. Her small fingers grasp it gingerly, the paper crinkling as she stretched out the paper. Her eyes skim hastily through the note.

_Dear Clarke,_

_Please know that this was done to keep you safe. It was only that thing that_ could _keep you safe. Use this book to learn English, your Dad tells me you’ll know trigedasleng naturally as you grow. You’re smarter than other kids, so I know you’ll be able to master English as well. You must know that we love you dearly Clarke, and you must know that from now on you cannot leave forest. You must stay with the wolves. You_ must _stay with them, understand?_

_Do not go looking for us. They are your family now._

_I love you._

  * _Abby_



Clarke stared at the note. She didn’t understand all of it; she only really understood a couple sentences. But it was enough.

It was enough to know that she would never see them again.

She went back to her spot where she had been before, surrounded with the warmth of the wolves, and just as she locked eyes with the black wolf that had apparently been watching her the entire time, she cried.

And she cried and cried and cried.

-

(~) – All trigedasleng in italics from this point on

The next few days feel like the longest days in her entire life.

They linger on and on, and it’s almost infuriating the time the sun takes to travel across the sky. A second feels like a minute, a minute an hour, a day a week. When night finally comes Clarke can barely hold in her grateful sigh as she bolts for cave, ditching whatever activity the black wolf is trying to teach her and hiding as deep into the cave as she can get. A dreamless, fitful sleep her only company.

It turns out that the black wolf has a name.

She found this out when the black wolf had taken notice of that lack of food she was eating. She’d nibble on the berries that he’d bring in, take a couple bites of the fruits that every now and again popped up, but she never touched the meat. She was fiddling with her fathers watch, her eyes switching between her fidgeting fingers and the forest below, when the black wolf had approached her. His steps weren’t exactly hesitant, but they didn’t hold the usual bravado that the wolf usually oozed. When Clarke saw him she merely scowled and shuffled other way. The wolf huffed.

Clambering up the last length of the hill the black wolf slipped into the cave, trotting over the human and, when he was close enough, gently dropping the fish from his muzzle in front of her. He proudly sat behind it, titling his head when the human just wrinkled her nose and turned away again. He whined, bending down and lightly nudging the fish.

‘ _You need to eat, young one.’_

Clarke didn’t say anything, still pointedly looking away. He bit down his growl.

‘ _Now.’_ The wolf muttered, just barely holding back his snarl. Clarke still didn’t move. With a huff the wolf got back on his feet and padded over to where Clarke was looking, sitting down. When they locked eyes, Clarke turned away. Again. So the wolf moved to wherever Clarke was staring, he’d sit down directly in her line her sight and the moment Clarke would notice she would turn away. And he’d do it again. And again, and again, and again.

When they were up to the seventh time, it morphed from frustration, to more of a game. And on the ninth time, Clarke couldn’t stop her grin. She looked behind her, the wolf moving, and just as a single piece of fur was in view she instantly switched to in front her. The wolf almost slipped from the sudden change, his paws flicking up dust as he sprinted to the other side. A giggle bubbled up from her throat, and it fell into full-fledged laughter when the wolf turned a second too fast in an attempt to catch up to Clarke, tripping over his own paws and falling with a thump to the ground. The sound startled the wolf, and not just him.

All of the heads in the rest of pack popped up, ears twitching in the direction of Clarke’s laughter.

Her hand was clutching at her belly as the black wolf found his footing with a scowl, obviously annoyed at the sudden embarrassment. He almost snarled at her for mocking him, but it died in his throat as he heard the human’s curious sound. A sudden energy was flooding him limbs, the human’s happiness jumping to his. He let out a giddy bark, tail unable to stop its wagging.

Finally, her laughter began its descent, a few lingering hiccups escaping her before they were left in silence once more. Her smile began its descent as well. The wolf saw, the giddiness being snubbed out like a candle.

Her lips started to wobble, but before a sob was even half formed she found a sudden wet nose nudging her ear. On instinct, and without regret, Clarke wrapped her arms around the neck of the wolf. She buried her face into his fur. Her tiny body shook with grief, but the wolf shook with her. Grounding her, giving her the closet thing to a hug he could ever achieve.

‘ _I am sorry your parents are gone, young one._ ’ He whispered. Clarke seemed to shake even harder. ‘ _But you are not alone. And you will find them again._ ’

Clarke’s head finally lifted up, the glossiness in her eyes making the blue in them shine. “ _No, they are gone…_ ”

‘ _Not forever,’_ he assured. She stared into his yellow eyes, trying to draw strength from them. ‘ _One day you will rejoin them. But for now… you are here. You are mine, with my pack.’_

She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing a deep shuddering breath. After a while, she was nodding, her sobs now soft sniffles. “Okay,” she breathed. “Okay.” She looked up to him, and somehow she could sense he was still confused, waiting on a reply. She bobbed her head in answer, which only made him squint his eyes. With a frown, she tried a different way. “ _Sha._ ” She mumbled, and again she sensed his emotions, the release of tension.

‘ _Good._ ’ Clarke suddenly took notice that the rest of pack had joined them, curiously watching from the sides. ‘ _Now, since you apart of this pack, you need a name._ ’

“I have a name,” Clarke answered, but the wolf just titled his head puzzled. She tried again, the words slipping out without her meaning too. _“I have a name.”_

The black wolf just watched her expectantly.

“Clarke.”

The wolf twitched his nose. ‘ _…Klark,’_ he repeated, though his voice was slow and careful. As if testing the sound, finding the dip and rise of the vowels. Clarke beamed at him in response, and if a wolf could smile back, he did his damn best at it. ‘ _I am Nethon.’_

“Nethon.” She tested his name as well. At first she didn’t quite get it, and for a few moments she went back and forth with Nethon, her echoing his name until finally, she could say it perfectly. When that happened, Nanton let out a pleased growl. He padded back over to where the fish had been sitting forgotten. Clarke’s bright eyes followed his movements; that is until she suddenly remembered the said fish. Nethon pushed the fish closer to her with his nose.

They locked eyes again, the human and the wolf, but it was different from any of the other times. While it was an offer of food, it was also an offer of peace. Of acceptance. In the past few days Clarke had had barely any interaction with the pack, with her supposed new family. She only went outside when she was forced out, running back to the caves confines at any opportunity she could.

Clarke of course didn’t understand the deeper meaning of the offer. Her human side didn’t at least.

Her other part did though. That part, the part that she solely inherited from her father, that part read between the lines. And it fought through the stubbornness of the human side, rallied all the fleeting strength it had, and guided Clarke as she lifted her tiny hand and pulled the fish towards her.

Wolves can’t smile.

But their eyes can shine brighter than the stars themselves.

-

She fell into a sort of pattern as she grew. She wouldn’t rise with the sun like the rest of the pack, but she did get up early. Nethon was the closet thing to a parental figure she had at this point, but as the weeks, the months grew on, it wasn’t just him that she interacted with anymore. The blonde wolf that she tackled on her very first meeting of the wolves, she learnt to be called Sasha. She was young, and quickly fell by the human’s side, as a protector, a friend. Really it only took a few days for her to be fully accepted as one of them by the pack.

But with a smile as pure as Clarke’s, could you really blame them?

The day would usually consist of playing. Clarke had no problem with it, when she was with her parents they never stayed anywhere long enough for her to fall into a routine. Going out to the same spot everyday, being able to recognise the trees and the people, well, animals, that surrounded her – it was strange. New. She liked it.

It wasn’t always just playing though. When a part of the pack left to hunt, Sasha, who was one of the youngest in the group, would creep over to her side. She’d gently grab Clarke’s shirt with her teeth, ignoring the intense stare from Nethon when she does this, and lightly pull her up to her feet. Clarke would swat her away, just catching a fleeting glance of the look in wolf’s eye before she’d bolt. And with a look like that, the sheer excitement and thrill…

Clarke always follows.

They run. Well, Clarke tries. She was three years older than Sasha, but she didn’t have four legs, and while the seemingly never ending source of energy that all five year olds apparently possess gives her edge, it’s not much of one. Not when you’re facing a predator that nature itself has shaped and honed over the ages to be the best it could possibly be.

But Clarke still runs.

Sasha pushes herself, but holds back enough so Clarke can keep pace with her. They tear through the forest, leaping over falling trees, rocks and stones, swerving between thick trunks that lead to wooden giants that are so impossibly tall, ducking the arms of those giants when they fall low enough. It sets off a fire in her veins that is beyond explainable, and when they finish, their chests panting and gulping the dry air, they stop, for a moment. A small moment. Then they turn around and do it all over again.

To Clarke it’s playing chase.

In actuality it’s training.

She doesn’t really have a sense of time. But if she did, it would be about three months when something changes. When the pattern of getting up, playing, chasing, and going back to bed tip into something else, something different. On a morning that shouldn’t be different, Clarke gets up. She wakes Sasha up too, who seems to share Clarke’s affinity for sleeping in, and together they go down to the river. She had promised Nethon the day before to cleanse herself. He had been slightly confused even as he said it, but he did say too, something in his voice that told her he’d gotten the command from somewhere else, some _one_ else.

But she’s young and doesn’t see this. So she goes down with Sasha to the river to bathe.

Though bathe _probably_ isn’t the best word.

She slips off her clothes, making them into nice neat pile before she all but flings herself into the river, screaming a shout of glee. Luckily she doesn’t hurt herself, nor does she go that bit too far and lets the river’s invisible claws wrap around her ankles, tugging her far, far away. She’s been to the river before. She’s seen one of the wolves, Deva, get caught within the waters grasp. She remembers the panic that seemed to infect every member of the pack then. Her included. They got her out, but it had been a scary enough experience for it to resonate deeply with her.

Not enough to stop her from jumping in the river though.

Sasha hesitantly approached the water, stopping right at the edge, lifting a tentative paw into the flow of the stream. Clarke sees, see’s the hesitance, or more feels, feels the slight discomfort the idea of going into the water disturbs Sasha. But Clarke also sees her dry fur.

She splashes the wolf, catching her by complete surprise.

Her fear of the water seems to completely disappear as Sasha rushes into the water and retaliates. It’s hard when you have no hands, but Sasha watches how Clarke does it, and in return, with the water only up her elbows, spins around and kicks with her hind legs.

They end up in a water war.

It’s fun.

It’s an hour before they finally stop, Clarke giggling and laughing the entire time. The sound is strange to the wolf, but it’s undeniable softness and joy is infectious, and while she can’t ever echo the sound, it doesn’t stop her from barking giddily in an attempt too. Clarke doesn’t have anything to dry herself with, which she realises with a frown, deciding to just put her clothes back on anyway. It makes the way back cold and uncomfortable, her teeth chattering before she can stop it. Winter wasn’t there yet, but it sure damn felt like it. It seemed like autumn was just feeling bitter about the world and decided to let everyone know. By the time Clarke gets back she’s shivering almost violently, her arms desperately running up her sides in an attempt to generate warmth.

It doesn’t work.

There’s no sun, and Clarke sure as hell feels it. Her clothes aren’t soaked, but they’re damp and tight. She would take them off, but she has nothing else. She’s been wearing the same outfit for three months.

When the sun is midway through the sky and her and Sasha trickle back into the cave it doesn’t take a second for Nethon to notice Clarke’s distress. Sasha had seen, but had no clue what to do.

‘ _Young one, what is wrong?’_

“ _Cold,_ ” Clarke stuttered out in response. It seemed that with every passing day her knowledge of trigedasleng grew. She didn’t question it, there’s not many things that five year olds do, it was just that with every day she woke up a new word would wake up with her. She still struggled in properly speaking it though.

Nethon scrambled over to her as she plopped herself down on the cold stone ground. She almost winced from it, the sheer coldness. Nethon noticed. He shuffled closer to her, lying himself next to her and pressing himself tight against her side. Instantly she feels the flood of warmth, her body dragging her down closer to the heat source before she can stop herself. Sasha realises what Nethon is doing, trotting over to Clarke’s opposite side and instead sprawling herself over her legs.

Clarke’s head is buried in Nethon’s fur, her hands gratefully clinging onto his mane like if she didn’t he would suddenly disappear. The sudden addition of Sasha on her legs, offering her even more warmth, is very much appreciated. She lets out a pleased hum when does, something she’s picked up from Nethon whenever she scratches that spot under his muzzle. It’s not long before the comfort is incredibly overwhelming, and her eyes are drooping to a slow close. Her fingers go limp in his fur.

Clarke sleeps for a long while.

And when she wakes up, she finds herself staring directly into Nethon eyes. He doesn’t say anything, as, really, there’s no need to. Clarke then goes about her day, but right at the end of it, Nethon nips at her heels. He keeps nipping till Clarke gives in with a huff, following him to whatever he wants to show her.

It turns out to be a bag.

A backpack.

It hasn’t been opened, and Clarke takes little to no hesitance in doing so. Inside she finds it to be packed with clothes, some too big for her. But most are her size, and apart from the clothes, Clarke finds a little book that she can’t make out the wording on the cover of. She eagerly changes into one of her new outfits, the one set of pajama’s she now has, but as she spins her delighted gaze onto Nethon it falters.

It’s not guilt. And it’s not regret.

But there’s something similar to that sitting in his eyes.

Clarke gives him a small smile, bounds over to him like the child she is, and she wraps her arms around his neck and squeezes tight. The wolf has been slowly adjusting to the human’s odd way of showing affection. At least, that’s what he’s gathered so far as for it’s meaning. Clarke still hugs him. Hugs him as his hackles relax, and his head lowers till it rests along the line of Clarke’s back.

The backpack is a gift from her father.

Some part of Clarke feels like it should be upset for only just now discovering it.

But she’s a child.

And the side of her that isn’t human pleads for attention, for the anger that it begs to be thrown. Yet the anger is never touched, never looked at, the human side large enough, and oblivious enough, to push it out.

That’s the difference from that day.

Not that she got cold, not that she didn’t feel the anger that she should have felt.

It changed because Nethon showed her the bag, the bag that meant that her parents really weren’t coming back.

In the best-case scenario, she was never meant to find it.

-

Three years pass quickly.

Or at least, they feel like they do.

It takes two years for her to completely understand trigedasleng. Whenever the wolves speak to her with it, she almost always knows what they are saying. But, in actually _replying_ to trigedasleng, she still struggles. She’s worked out the basics. There’s no doubt in that.

But she also doesn’t completely depend on speaking as communication anymore. At least once a day Nethon would sit down with her, not for long, not long enough to take up a good portion of her day. They sit opposite each other, and Nethon makes a sound. A bark, a growl, pulls his lips back and exposes his teeth with a snarl. Clarke sometimes flinches when he does that, some instinct in her chest urging her to run. He stops instantly when he sees that. Something almost apologetic in his eye.

It’s Clarke’s job to replicate the sound.

It’s a long process.

On the first day of this, still just five years old, she tries the growl. Mostly because she wants to be able sneak up and do it at Sasha. She’s seen what happens when Nethon growls, the ripple of tension throughout the pack, the fear of who the hell is unlucky enough to be on the other end of such a sound. So Clarke tries a growl.

It’s nothing short of adorable.

But Nethon worries that it also makes her look weak.

It’s hard trying to teach someone something that they can never hope to perfectly repeat themselves, the species barrier making its presence heavily known. It’s easy to growl as a wolf, that vibration in the throat. Clarke tries, but she doesn’t quite have the muscles there for it. Nethon still makes her practice for a few minutes each day. Them sitting across from each other, Nethon growling, and Clarke repeating the sound.

It takes three years, but she gets it. She also gets the whine too, the sound to make when in distress.

She’s eight years old now; it wasn’t that hard to learn the different whines.

The hardest is the bark, and the closet she can get is this sharp guttural sound right in the back of her throat. It’s intense and almost always triggers reaction, the first time Clarke getting it sending Nethon right up onto his paws. It had made Clarke frown, his reaction. If a wolf could frown, he did too. And even though the bark is the hardest, there actually is one that’s even more difficult. Nethon hasn’t gotten around to teaching her it though.

It’s a howl.

She’s learnt the different howls, what they each mean. The one that starts off as a bark and morphs into a howl is an alarm for danger, the other howls that vary in their harmony range from just waking, a greeting, to letting the pack know where they are, or even to scare, or confuse, prey. Clarke loves it. Whenever a pack member starts a howl it’s not long before the others join in, and though Clarke hasn’t been truly taught it – she always tries.

She’s learnt all the names of the pack now, of _her_ pack. It was true that at the start she felt isolated from them, the fact that they were wolves, not humans, playing a big role in that. But somewhere along the road loyalties became blurred. Family became blurred. She remembers the faces of her parents, there’s no doubt in that, but the smaller details are becoming increasingly harder to find. She can’t quite place their voices anymore, anytime she stops herself long enough for her mind to bring her back to her parents; she can never quite get their voices down. She can replay the sound in her mind, but it sounds off. Like it’s not quite.

She never dwells on it for too long, because whenever she does she finds that a black wolf has suddenly appeared by her side. And sometimes, it’s not Nethon. It’s his mate. Sheila.

She had been wary of her at first. Always lingering around the edges, watching with a curious eye Clarke’s interactions with the pack. But, her reluctance eventually ran out, and it wasn’t long before she tiptoed over to a sleeping Clarke, and, carefully, lying down by her shivering side. Not moving even as the small blonde rolls over and dimly reaches out a hand, tangling it in her fur. Though cautious at the start, it didn’t take long for the mothering instincts to kick in.

Clarke’s not sure of her rank in the pack. In her defense though, she _is_ still just getting around to the idea of what ranks even are.

She knows that none of the wolves dare to hurt her. They challenge her sometimes, to test that line, that boundary, of how far they can go with her. How strong she actually is. She’s gotten quicker at dodging dives at her heels, better at ducking a leap at her neck. It’s pushing the restraints of playful, but Clarke loves it anyway. Nethon though, isn’t such a big fan.

He sticks close to her. Sheila mimicking. Wherever Clarke goes to play, to chase Sasha around or play fight with, it’s guaranteed that at least one of them are watching over her. Sometimes they show themselves, lounging around on a sunbaked rock, or, when Clarke sneaks off to run through the forest, they follow her there too. Just the right amount of lengths away to avoid being seen.

Clarke has a deep love for running through the forest.

An even bigger one when she gets to run with the pack.

At first, keeping up with them was near impossible. Even worse was the effort to keep quiet and subtle. When you’re five, you really can’t find the effort to give a damn. But now, at the age of eight, she’s learnt to adapt to it. She sprints with them, just makes it enough to hang around the tail end. Nethon and Sheila of course lead at the front, being the Alpha’s, but Clarke is never alone as that same blonde wolf seems to materialize by her side every time. She bounds at her side, nips at her heels when she isn’t fast enough, when her footing is too close to trudging like an elephant through leaves.

Hunting though, Clarke doesn’t do. She stays quiet for them, because when she isn’t the glare she gets from Nethon, and everyone else, is a little too painful to bear. She would stay back all together to avoid the ravaging of a suddenly dead deer, her sitting against a tree in the edges. But the thrill of the run always sets of a buzzing in her veins, a fire in her chest. She can’t turn away from it.

And, for three years, nothing really went wrong. There were attacks now and again against the pack; it’s unavoidable really, a different pack travelling through always seems to find them and challenge for their territory. Clarke’s practically thrown into the cave when that happens, and not just by Nethon’s hand, but also by the entire pack. They’ve seen the human’s lack of ability to fight, how easily she gets hurt. Two always stay back with her just in case.

But apart from that, the routine never really differs. There’s just one small problem though.

Clarke is a Griffin.

It’s not hard for trouble to find her.

-

She was on a run.

Further out then they usually go.

Sasha like always was next to her, powerful muscles shifting as her paws kicked up the dirt beneath them. They’re at the back of the pack, as Clarke still struggles to run faster enough to place her in the centre, or really anywhere near it. They were about half an hour in, and just as Clarke’s breaths started to strain, she tripped over her feet. She didn’t fall, thankfully. Her ankle did scream at her though for the sudden lack of movement.

Clarke frowned, her chest heaving as she looked out through the trees around them. She had heard something. Something strange, a sound that you don’t hear in the woods. It was too deep to be a birdcall, too harmonic to be bark or howl. And there was something soft about the sound, something that made her heart warm. It was nice.

Her feet were taking her closer before her brain caught up to itself.

Sasha had stopped running when she suddenly didn’t see Clarke next to her. She swung her head back, whining when she saw Clarke was walking in a completely different direction, towards the trees. Out of their territory. Clarke of course didn’t hear Sasha calls, her mind entirely focused on the strange sound that, with her growing pace, was steadily becoming louder. Sasha anxiously jumped her gaze from the spot in the trees where Clarke had gone and up ahead, where their pack was still running. With a frustrated growl, Sasha caved and rushed over to where she had last seen Clarke, following her scent to lead her back to the human’s side.

The more she focused on the sound the more she realised it was actually more than one sound. It was multiple sounds, all bunched together in a perfect synch, though every now again they’d all lower and dwindle down to a single sound, and then it build, it’d build and build and build, and suddenly it was multiple sounds again. All working so effortlessly beautifully together. It was almost hypnotizing, but when Clarke managed to tear her sight off where it was coming from and glanced at the wolf at her side, she could see the Sasha could hear it too. But she wasn’t as entranced with it as Clarke was. They locked eyes, and Sasha whined again, urging them to go back.

“ _Soon. I just want to find the sound.”_ Clarke whispered. Sasha huffed, hanging her head in defeat.

‘ _Quick.’_

She was. She picked up their pace, her ear trained onto the odd sound. They were a blur through the trees, and it did take a while, but, eventually, they found it. The source.

Clarke stopped dead still. She held her breath, hiding in the last line of trees and bushes before the clearing in front of them.

The people in front of them.

There were about three of them. They were all sitting on the ground, though one of them who had long dark hair, held something in her arms, resting in her lap. Clarke realised that that was where the sound was coming from. The girl with dark hair threw her head back with a cackle, the other two girls in front of her laughing along with her.

“God, I can’t believe you finally dumped that asshole,” one of them with red hair said. She was sitting next to a thinner girl, her hair like the one making the sound, except it was short and spiky. The girl with the short hair nodded her head.

“She’s right Steph, he was a _dick_.”

Steph, the one moving her hand over the object in her hand, shook her head. “You guys are terrible,” she muttered. Clarke dared a step closer, spotting that the object Steph was playing, seemed to have six strings running tight against the wood. It was shaped like a flat pear, but thick. The inside seemed to be hollow, as Clarke could see a hole that strings ran across, undisturbed. “And you’re one to talk Danni, who was the guy you were last with? Sam? Sid?”

“ _Scott_ Steph.” Danni, the one with short hair drawled. “And he wasn’t nearly as bad.”

“Please, he was _way_ worse.” Steph waved off. The strange sound briefly stopped as she did. But then she brought her hand back to the thinner, longer bit of wood, and the sound suddenly started back up again.

Clarke watched the group as they chatted away, the sound briefly stopping every now and again. She didn’t catch much of it, as it was mostly in English, but she did catch the names. It took a while, but after eaves dropping for long enough, she learnt that the sound was coming from something called a guitar. And the sound, was actually something called music. Clarke decided she liked music.

She stayed till the girl stopped playing the guitar, the last few notes floating pleasantly in the air, Clarke greedily grasping at them and committing them as deeply as she could to memory.

She may only be eight, but some part of her knew she wasn’t going to get a chance to hear the music again.

The three girls suddenly stood up, Steph grabbing her guitar by its neck and gently laying it down into a black case that echoed the guitars shape.

Sasha nudged Clarke’s leg.

‘ _Go now?’_

Clarke hesitated. She should, it would be the smart thing to do. To just go back and forget about this, forget the strangely wonderful sound the guitar makes. Nethon would’ve noticed she’s gone by now, and knowing how protective he is it’s easy to assume that he’s probably getting worried. She _needs_ to go back.

But something makes her stay.

She doesn’t really know. Maybe some part of her wants to rebel, maybe she just can’t be bothered to go all the way back. Maybe… maybe the music had reminded her of something that she never knew she had forgotten, reminded her of what she truly was, not what she pretended to be.

Human.

The girls, Steph with the guitar case slung over her back, began walking away. And Clarke, biting her lip, followed.

Sasha did not approve.

Before Clarke had even taken the first step to move towards them, Sasha was grabbing her by the shirt and pulling her back. Clarke shrugged off her grip, slightly ripping her shirt. The blonde wolf nipped her ankle.

‘ _We’re going back.’_ Sasha glared. Clarke glared right back.

“ _No, I’m following them._ ” Clarke muttered.

Sasha rolled her eyes, which was more of rolling her entire head, something she’s seen Clarke do. ‘ _No. Nethon will be worried.’_

That made Clarke hesitate. Nethon had taken her under his wing, or rather, paw, since they first found her. It was always him that stayed by her side, protected her, fed her, made her feel like she was safe. She didn’t want him to worry, but she also didn’t want to go back. Not just yet. Clarke realised that Sasha really wasn’t going to let her go. The best she could do, was aim for a compromise.

“ _We’ll go back,_ ” Clarke ignored the relief in Sasha’s eye. “ _But, first we follow them. Only for a little while, just to see where they come from._ ”

Sasha stared at her for a long time. When she saw the Clarke wasn’t going to budge, she blew out a sharp breath through her nose. And, like she’s seen Clarke do, she bobbed her head.

Clarke beamed down at her.

Sasha cursed whatever heavens gave someone a smile that powerful.

Not that Clarke knew, but she had better hearing and smell than the average person. It wasn’t nearly as good as Sasha’s of course, but it was good enough that Clarke easily found the group of girls again, the human and wolf trailing silently behind them in the dwindling forest. That was one of Clarke’s main worries as they followed them further and further out.

They were running out of woodland.

Which Clarke found very strange. It was true that Clarke could remember times when she didn’t live in the woods, but in tiny rooms with paper-thin walls. But those memories were hazy, and her clear ones showed her how never ending the forest was, so seeing, seeing for the first time in years a possible land that wasn’t littered with trees; it made her uneasy. She still tailed them.

Clarke noticed how Sasha was growing nervous as well. She tried offering some comfort, a light scratch behind the ear, and that did seem to calm her down somewhat. When they had been following the group of girls for twenty minutes Clarke was about to give up, deciding that they weren’t really worth her time anymore. And she was about to, about to turn away, but then suddenly the forest stopped.

And instead of dirt, the ground was suddenly stone.

But the stone was strange, perfectly smooth and pale. And the stone wasn’t even at the front of her worries, it was the sounds, the overwhelming foreign smells that seemed to hit all at once in one big wave. She had been so caught up in trying to not draw any attention to herself, that she hadn’t even noticed these things yet.

Now she did though.

And it made her stomach roll with unease, but also with familiarity.

Maybe that was why she stepped out onto the pavement.

Sasha let out a strained yip at that, her paws awkwardly shuffling back and forth. They danced at the edge of the tree line, too afraid to cross the miniscule gap and touch the unknown stone in front of her. Clarke turned her head, the girls with the guitar long forgotten as they continued down pavement never seeing the girl, or wolf, behind them.

“ _It’s okay,_ ” Clarke whispered, careful to keep her voice down. She knelt down in front of the obviously anxious wolf. “ _You’re safe._ ”

 _‘We should go back.’_ Sasha whined. Clarke gave her a small smile. Slowly, she reached out her hand, gently grasping one of Sasha’s front paws. Glancing up to make Sasha was okay, she softly pulled the paw a tiny bit out. She placed it against the pavement.

“ _See?_ ” Clarke grinned. Sasha stared up at her wide eyed. “ _Completely safe._ ”

It took a bit of time but, slowly and carefully, Clarke managed to coax the wolf so she was now standing on the pavement. All four paws including too. She couldn’t stop her proud smile, her hand coming up and scratching Sasha’s ear. “ _Good. Now, let’s go explore._ ”

And explore they did.

The sounds were overwhelming first. Clarke couldn’t know, but they had wondered into a nearby town. It was a small town, the roads cracked and the banks few and far between. Clarke and Sasha, who was practically glued to Clarke’s hip the entire way, cautiously trailed down the sidewalk, curiously glancing at the strange structures that they passed. They passed a lot of buildings, the walls, sometimes grey, sometimes red, climbing either sky high or a leisurely low, glass windows glinting in the sunlight on the sides. Clarke found it oddly beautiful, the whole set up. There weren’t many people out, it was only eight in the morning, but there were some. And when they caught sight of the scruffy blonde eight year old in dirt smeared clothes, her hair and skin not fairing any better, as well as the dog that looked eerily similarly to a wolf by her side…

They almost always stared.

Clarke didn’t like the cars the passed them through the roads every now and again. To her, their growls were exceedingly loud and had her jumping every time, her heart pounding relentlessly in her chest. They scared her, Sasha included.

When they finally escaped the line of the forest, shops and buildings now either side of them, Clarke paused. Sasha stopped as well, a woman on the phone furrowing her brows at them before sidestepping the two and carrying on her way. She still looked back over her shoulder.

Clarke slowly turned to the shop to the left of her, watching someone come through a door and stroll out. Two plastic bags were grasped tightly in their hands; their feet instantly pivoting and rushing down the opposite way. With some caution, Clarke approached the door. She didn’t know much English, but in the past year she had finally gotten around to skimming through the dictionary her mother gave her the last time she saw her. It wasn’t just an ordinary dictionary, well, it was, but inside next to every word was this small, tidy handwriting. Jake had gone through and put the trigedasleng translation for each word. He skipped some of them of course, the less essential ones, but the important ones he included.

So Clarke could make out the words ‘PULL’ on the door. With a quick glance to Sasha, whose anxiety seemed to have given way to curiosity, she leant forward and pulled the door. It’s a little hard, but when Sasha sticks her paws through and pulls as well the door manages to give way. They sneak in before it can close on them.

Clarke’s breathing stumbled when she sees what’s around her. Sasha freezes too.

Food.

And a goddamn lot of it.

It’s everywhere, fruits of so many colours that’s Clarke almost tempted to squint her eyes from the sheer brightness of it all. Rows and rows of it lie so innocently still, boxes and boxes propped up on angled tables, a few odd people casually making their way through and picking up the occasional fruit or vegetable. Her stomach growled at the smell.

Clarke is slow to start walking around, her eyes barely big enough to take in all the sights around her. She has to grip tight to the fur on Sasha’s neck, pulling her back in a silent command for her to stay. She does, albeit reluctantly.

The owner of the grocery, who sits up in the corner with a newspaper, lifts his sight at the sound of the doorbell. He doesn’t get surprised often. It’s a small town; he could probably name every person here and their grandson if it came down to it. So the sight of a stranger, an _eight_ year old stranger, is a bit of a shock. His brow rose well above his glasses.

Clarke is too absorbed in the shock of all the food to notice the owner’s staring. She also doesn’t notice how it hardens at the sight of Sasha. She wandered carefully through the store, her steps soft as if she’s afraid that it could all suddenly disappear, that this is all some elaborate dream. But it’s not, even when she spots her favourite thing in the entire world, something she’s only ever had one other time.

Apples.

She bounded over to them, Sasha eagerly meeting her pace. She briefly glanced above to see a bunch of labels, but really all she cares about is the _apples_ that are so clearly right there and in such numbers. Gingerly, she reached for one, and the moment she felt the weight in her hand, confirmation that it’s real, she takes a bite.

It’s so good, she has half a mind to devour the whole thing in a single swallow it’s that good. Really, she was about to, except a sudden shout had her body locking up.

The owner, his face set in a scowl, is suddenly up on his feet. Clarke stared at him, apple midway into its second bite. He stared back. She saw the filling of his cheeks, the way his shirt was slightly strained under the weight that wants to push out. He had no hair, just an impressive black moustache that curled around his lip. His skin was almost bronze.

No one moves at first.

Clarke glances between him, and the door. Then to the apples.

She could make it.

He speaks before she does. “Alright kid, if you agree to wait with me for parents to come in here and pay for that, then we’re not gonna’ have any trouble. Understand?”

Clarke just stared at him. His voice was deep, and despite the hard look in his eye, it’s soft as well. He sighed, taking a careful step forward.

“You speak English?”

She can’t quite make out what he’s saying, the sound of her heart thundering in her ear too loud for her to hear. She heard the word English, but that’s as far as she gets. She forced herself to take a deep breath, to relax her muscles. The owner does as well when he sees her shoulders slump. He gave her a small smile.

“Come on,” he waved a hand. “I’ll keep you company while we wait.”

Sasha was dead still beside her, her eyes trained on his movements. Clarke knew she’d probably pounce on him if he so much as reached for her. But Clarke didn’t want that, there’s a warmth to his voice that makes her hand fall down grab the fur at the back her neck. Gently, she tugged her back, a signal for her to back down. She doesn’t really, but her shoulders lose some of their coiled tension. Clarke took one last glance at the apples next to her. It’s now or never.

“Anytime this year would be nice,” the owner said, raising a thick bushy brow. Clarke nodded, mostly just because that seems to be what he’s looking for, and the moment she took a step forward to him – she’s spinning around. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he realised what she’s doing. Clarke pulled her out shirt like a bucket, messily shoving in a couple apples before bolting for the door. Sasha is on her heels almost instantly.

The owner made a blind dive at her, but she’s a second too fast, his hands just missing her feet. She barreled into the door, Sasha throwing her weight against so much so that it slams open. They stumbled out onto the street, Clarke spinning on her heel and sprinting for the where forest last was.

The owner bursts through the door a moment later.

“Hey!” he barked. “Get back here!”

Clarke pushed her legs faster. Her breath is coming out in pants, and when she looks behind her the owner is gaining a dangerous amount of ground. Her head snapped over to Sasha.

“ _Get ready,”_ Clarke breathed. “ _I’m going to jump on you._ ”

‘ _Jump on me?’_ Sasha growled. Though her voice didn’t need to be spoken with air, it’s still ragged and strained from the running. Clarke grinned devilishly. She can’t help it.

Clarke can tell Sasha is slowing enough so she can keep pace with her. With a sharp intake of a breath, Clarke pulls the end of her shirt closer to her so the apples don’t fall out, and jumps.

She lands on Sasha in a straddle, a small hand instantly latching onto the blonde fur and clinging on dear life. Clarke threw her head over shoulder only to see the man barely a few metres away.

“ _Run! Faster!_ ”

Sasha growls in frustration at Clarke’s actions. She has no idea why she followed the girl so far out. She wants to scold her for it. But, Clarke is family, and there’s no way in hell she’s letting that human touch her if she has something to say about it.

When Clarke’s shouts another warning in fear of the man that’s just looming over them, Sasha shrugs off her restraints and runs as fast as her legs can take her.

The owner disappears fast, eventually giving up in a breathy huff as he slowed to a stop.

Sasha sprinted till the forest came into view, and only till they were inside, and back on the path where they had first separated from the pack, does she slow down enough for Clarke to get off. Clarke does, unable to contain her smile when she sees no apples had fallen out during their escape. But when she looked over to Sasha, her face is in anything but amusement.

Clarke gulped, struggling to meet the wolf’s eye. “… _Sorry?_ ”

They walked the rest of the length home in silence.

The moment they enter the clearing Clarke spotted Nethon bolt down the hill. He’s so fast that by the time Clarke has taken only about another five steps he’s suddenly on top of her, ecstatically licking her face. Clarke shoved him off with a squeal, a smile on her face as a few of the other pack mates round in on her with a brush against the thigh or a playful nip at the heel. When the reunion is over, Clarke looks over to Nethon grinning. The smile soon falls.

He’s not happy with her.

You’d think that you couldn’t be lectured by a wolf, that because of the whole ‘not even being human’ thing comes into play. And, normally, you’d be right. But Clarke isn’t normal. Nor is she human. Clarke is special.

Special enough to get an hour long lecture from a wolf.

-

The few days after the grocery incident are tense. Nethon doesn’t move from the blonde’s side, not ever. Not even when she has to relieve herself. He follows her in, sits the other way and waits for her to be done. Clarke finds it mortifying. He doesn’t care for Clarke’s constant complaining for those days, doesn’t bat an eye when Clarke even growls at him, trying to push him away with a shove. If he weren’t so mad with her, he’d be proud of the sound.

But he is.

So he makes no comment.

On the fourth day, he begins to pull back. Clarke is beyond grateful, not that she’d give him the satisfaction of seeing. She’s not allowed to go on their runs, at least, not for a while. When she’d first heard it she had thrown a fit. Maybe Nethon had experience with pups, because he merely let her rant, and when she was done, he just repeated that she’s not allowed, and promptly went to sleep. It was late in the evening after all.

He doesn’t follow her everywhere anymore. Just when she’s playing in the woods or wandering through, he stays back when she hangs around the hill or the small clearing at the bottom. That week, it’s calm. And gradually, bit-by-bit, the tension in the pack retracts till it’s no longer there. For a week, it seems like they can go back to falling into the usual routine.

The only problem is that Clarke wants to go back.

-

The pack leaves to go on a morning hunt.

Sasha stays behind with Clarke, offering to keep the blonde company. Over the years, it seems the pair have bonded past friends, leaking into the territory of sisters. Clarke has no problem with it, and neither does Sasha. As the pack leave, Sheila gives her a stern look, her black fur making her yellow eyes almost glow. Clarke bobs her head, and that seems to be good enough for the wolf. The pack finally leaves, a mixed blur of fur as they descend within the depths of the trees.

Half an hour later Clarke found herself walking along the pavement.

Sasha, her face set in a reluctant scowl, trailing by her side.

The better half of Clarke is telling to go back. That she’s just gotten out of her punishment for her last misadventure, diving into another one is going to do nothing but cause more trouble for her. That’s her rational side anyway. Her curiosity on the other hand, is an entirely different matter.

Her curiosity really couldn’t give a damn.

She’s decided not go in any of the buildings this time, and the logic part of her is heaving a much needed sigh of relief from it. But she does trail nearby, hand gently grazing the stone and brick walls. Every now and again her hand bumps against a nail or a poster, and for moment, she stops, her eyes latch onto the foreign object and soak in as much detail as they can. Clarke loves it. She quickly gets lost in the new environment. The shops, the street cart food (she makes sure to walk faster by those), the buildings that reach the clouds themselves. She gets lost in it fast, bewonderment on her lips and teeth.

So it’s not really a surprise when she directly collides into someone.

It felt like bumping into a brick wall, and as Clarke shakes her head and blinks away the morning sun she finds a shocked face staring at her. And when her eyes adjust she realises why.

The owner.

His mouth is in the perfect, ‘o’ shape, and Clarke is the first one to break through the surprise. She had just spun of her heel, first running foot about to touch the ground when she’s suddenly yanked back. He grabs her by the shirt, his hand quickly switching for a better grip on the girl’s arm.

Sasha snarled, a sound Clarke’s only ever heard that one time when a rival pack had run through when she was outside, one of them coming close to her. It scared Clarke, and it also scared the owner. He let go of her arm in an attempt to jump back and put distance between him and raging animal. Sasha is still snarling, a feral growl now vibrating deep from belly. Clarke could see the fear in the man’s eyes, and while she doesn’t know him, nor does she really care for him, she paused. She knows she should run and let Sasha give her enough time to put distance between them.

But the man never hurt her. Not really.

He just got mad when she took some of his food. And though Clarke didn’t really understand why he would put it on display only to scold those who take it, she hates it when anyone takes her stuff. Especially her food. It wasn’t really his fault.

With a shake of the head, Clarke rushed over to the man, purposely putting her between him and Sasha. Her snarl faltered.

“ _Back down. We’re going home.”_ Clarke ordered. It was the first time she’d told someone to do something so harshly. Sasha looked visibly surprised, but the expression passed quickly.

‘ _He’s going to hurt you.’_

“ _No he’s not. He’s just scared._ ” Clarke muttered. She clenched her fists, straightening her back like how Nethon showed her, making her seem as big as possible. “ _Stop._ ”

Sasha didn’t. Instead her growl deepened, her ears flat against her head.

The man behind seems to snap out of his gaze, his hand coming out to pull Clarke behind him. Sure, the kid had nicked an apple, but she’s also just a kid. Clarke shrugged off his grip. She only did because his fingers had only just grazed her. The touch set off something in Sasha, seeing him touch Clarke.

She pounced.

But she didn’t get far.

Clarke didn’t know where her sudden strength from, all she knew was the feeling the appeared in her chest. When Sasha was just about to land on the man, her jump leaping over Clarke, Clarke grabbed Sasha’s hind legs from above. And pulled.

Clarke sidestepped as Sasha was dragged back to the ground, the wolf falling with a thud. The owner stood gob smacked, so did the small crowd that had surrounded them, as, the little blonde eight year old girl, grabbed the wolf by the ruff and forcefully pulled it up. Clarke hauled her up, but she did try to be gentle about it. Sasha swayed up on her four legs, confused eyes blinking up to Clarke’s. For once, Clarke didn’t smile when they locked eyes.

“ _Stop._ ”

Sasha didn’t move, but she didn’t say anything either.

Clarke barred her teeth. “ _Answer me._ ” She growled, and it shocked her a little when she actually _did_ growl. The sound triggered something in the wolf, because she stuck her head low to her ground, her tail tucked between her legs. The defiance in her gave way to shame and worry. Sasha whined.

The whine is enough for her shoulders to slacken. Clarke let out a relieved breath, and it seemed like everyone around them did too. For a moment, there’s a little bubble. A bubble of awkward time, where no one really knew what to do. It was one of those after-moments, the aftermath of the big event. The split second between the soccer ball crashing into the goals, and that breath between the realization of the victory. The single, fleeting moment, right after the slam of a door, where you’re left standing in a slightly off sense of space, confused, lost, of what to do. And you’re stuck like that, until your brain finally kicks in.

The owner was the first to come back to reality. The first thing he saw was the crowd around him. His eyes narrowed. “Piss off with the lot of you, shows over.”

His voice is loud and gruff, but everyone is still left awkwardly standing. His features morphed into a scowl.

“Now!”

The second time did it and they scatter like mice, stumbling to get away. The owner heaved a slow sigh before letting his gaze fall onto the small blonde. She looked up at him with wide eyes.

He shook his head. “Come on. I’m taking you to the station.” He doesn’t offer room for argument, leaning down and putting his thick hand against the small of her back. Sasha tensed, but Clarke shot her look and she’s instantly retreating. Like a scolded child, she trailed by Clarke’s side with her head down.

The journey to the station seems longer than it probably was.

It’s highly likely that’s due to the fact that Clarke stares open mouthed at the streets around her. Everything is new, not like the forest. Not like the same trees and the same dirt and the same river. The colours are different here, there’s much less of the earthy brown, and instead it’s more pastel and red. The owner keeps his hand on her back the entire way there, mostly just as a reassurance that she shouldn’t run.

Shouldn’t. Not can’t.

Because she could, if she wanted too. It’d be easy. All she’d have to do would be to give that silent signal to the wolf beside her, and said wolf would shake off their chains and finally let primal instinct take over. Clarke ponders it for a moment, but her heart beats and the thought is gone. They pass more shops and stores, and even places called ‘cafés’. She gets as far as reading it but trips on the pronunciation. She has no clue what the little mark over the ‘e’ means. It only intrigues her more.

When they turn on a corner and Clarke finally catches sight of the police station, her eyes widen.

Her first thought? Blue. Very blue.

But a different blue. Not the river blue, the water blue. Not that see-through blue where the blue is like a passenger on a ride, not the driver, the main event. It’s just there, riding as a companion, adding it’s occasional joke and opinion, but never fully, entirely, taking over. It tinges the water, but doesn’t infect.

But the blue and white on the police station are intense. They’re full and fierce, and it sends a shot of panic so far down in Clarke, that, for a moment, she contemplates turning around. The thought lingers enough that her feet slow, but the owner is nudging her forward with a grunt, and a second slightly harder one when she stops walking.

When they get to the door, they pause.

“Alright kid. I’m gonna’ give you one last chance, I’ll give you my phone, you call your parents, and we’ll forget about this entire ordeal. Yeah?”

Clarke just blinked at him. The owner sighed, one that’s equal parts sad and frustrated.

“Probably don’t even speak English,” he grumbled to himself. He gave the small blonde one last glance, though it drifted down to her side. “It’d be better if we leave your little pup outside.”

Clarke followed his glare to Sasha, who, surprisingly, is acting quite well behaved. She’s sitting quietly, not even a teeny, minuscule growl on her lips. But unlike their usual interactions she doesn’t meet Clarke’s eye. Clarke brings her gaze back to the owner, helpless and clueless. He sighed again.

“Fine.” It seems he’s even shocked by his own words. He shook his head with scoff, and then he pushed forward through the station doors.

It looked bigger from the inside.

At least, that’s what Clarke thinks.

But it’s still all so new and foreign, so her eyes can’t help their widening and her curiosity can’t help its squealing, its grin full of teeth as it sees things that its never seen before. She tries to take in every detail that’s possible. The front desk that rises just below the owner’s chest, the scrawny, brown eyed worker; her skin colour almost mimicking her iris’s right down to the speck of slight gold that twinkles in them, the freckles mirroring on her cheeks. The desk almost hides her completely from Clarke’s view, forcing her to stand on the tip of her toes to try and see more of her.

She still can’t quite see her. It bugs Clarke, not that she really knows why. She can hear the owner and the woman talking, which does mean she has to lean a little in. But it’s not enough. And since Clarke carries a stubbornness that comes attached with her last name, she bends her little legs, and jumps. She’s only in air for what barely counts as a second, and in that time when Clarke manages to just reach the desk height, she springs out her arms and latches on, her fingers lucky enough to snag on the part that dips downwards.

The woman behind the desk yelps at Clarke’s sudden appearance, a sound that to Clarke mirrors exactly that of a startled pup. Clarke grins wide, and, with a smile like that, the woman can’t hold in her laughter.

Now that Clarke is closer, she can see her face better.

What attracts her attention is the woman’s hair. In Clarke’s opinion, it’s beyond gorgeous, they way it seems to expand out from her head like a rain filled cloud, but as if the cloud is filled with black ink, not water, and somehow the woman has snatched it from the sky and layered it on her head. Clarke knows that she’d look incredibly silly with hair like that, but, this woman, she makes it work wonderfully. It’s hers, Clarke decides. Something only she could do, and no one else could replicate.

Clarke’s arms begin to shake from holding up her weight, and just as she is about to let go she finds sudden support underneath her bare feet. It tickles her toes, and with a quick curious glance downwards, Clarke sees Sasha staring back at her. Clarke smiles. And Sasha’s eyes sparkle as if she had smiled too.

“ _You’re very pretty_ ,” Clarke told the woman. The surprise is evident on her face from the little girl’s use of trigedasleng, but she still smiles, her eyes crinkling.

The woman bows her head. “ _Thank you._ ” Her trigedasleng is slightly different to hers Clarke notes, the accents softer and smooth. But really it’s the relief in finally finding someone that can say something that she actually understands that makes Clarke trust her a little. The owner scowled from the interaction.

“Hey. I don’t know what you’re speaking, but this kid stole some of my produce. Since she’s a kid, I don’t really care but…” Again, he shook his head. “She looks like a runaway to me. There was no Mum or Dad following her around just that dog.”

The woman frowned, the lines in her face revealing her concern. “When was this? And what dog?”

“Last week. She ran into me about a half hour ago. And the dog,” he narrowed his eyes. “You would have seen when she came in.”

The woman waved off his irritation like one would a fly that buzzed a little too close their face. “If you’d take the time to look around me,” she gestured to the mountains of paper work that piled around her desk, standing tall in neat, organized stacks. “I was a little distracted.” The owner scoffed, but he didn’t say anything more on the topic.

“Listen, I just want to see the kid home with her parents.”

Parents. Clarke knows that word. She’s still standing on Sasha, and her eyes jump from the man’s to the woman’s. Hers are much kinder and softer, so she decides to stick with hers.

“Parents.” Clarke echoed the word. It wasn’t in question; though the word still rose and dipped like one. It was more like if she said it loud than hopefully she’d suddenly know why the word hurt her, but also, every so slightly, why it didn’t. The word parents she usually associates with that blur in her past with brown hair, but it’s also started to bring the imagery of Nethon to her mind, and Sheila. And her pack. Her family. Clarke frowned, and the two adults noticed.

The woman leaned a little closer to Clarke. “ _Do you want me to call your parents?”_

Clarke understood trigedasleng, very clearly in fact, but still the sentence left her confused. She just stared at the woman, and either she grew too uneasy from it or the concern that had been nibbling in at the back of her head finally fell in, because the woman pushed herself from her desk. She shot the man a look, but it wasn’t too harsh.

“Thank you for bringing her. I’ll make sure someone keeps her company while we find her parents.”

The owner, surprisingly, seemed reluctant. “You won’t look over her?”

“Someone’s gotta’ man the front desk.” She offered a small smile, a little surprised as well for his worry of her. He seemed to just want to get something back from her stealing from him, but yet he also he seemed to genuinely worry about the girl’s care, taking the effort to walk to the police station not to report a theft but, to make sure she get’s home. Clarke doesn’t notice, as with an eight year olds brain, she’s far more in interested in the balancing game she’s just started with Sasha.

The owner opens his mouth but promptly shuts it. “Alright. Just… make sure she’s safe.” He gave Clarke one last glance, and somehow Clarke must have sensed it, because her head is suddenly turning to his. For some reason, he offers a smile at her. Clarke tilts her head like a confused puppy, before smiling back. He just notices that she’s standing on the dog and is unable to stop his chuckle.

“See ya’ apple kid.” He tipped his head with an imaginary hat, and then slid out the door.

Clarke turned back to the woman, and with the owner’s leaving, she suddenly feels uneasy. The woman doesn’t notice, just gives her a mother’s smile before getting out of her office chair. Clarke watches with fascination as the chair rolls. The woman slipped around the desk, coming up to Clarke’s side and kneeling down. When she gets close enough Clarke gets off Sasha’s back, ignoring the overdramatic huff of relief from the wolf.

The woman smiles fondly at the eight year old. “ _Come,_ ” she reached out her hand. “ _Follow me_.”

“ _Why_?” Clarke asked, squinting her eyes. Her voice is the usual childish curiosity, but there’s also another part of it, something that isn’t quite. The other part of her, her father’s part of her, warns Clarke to be cautious. But the woman doesn’t see that part.

“ _I know where they hide the cookies in the kitchen_ ,” the woman winked. She doesn’t tug Clarke along, but she aims her feet and body in the appropriate direction, letting Clarke choose. The blonde frowns.

“ _Cookies_?”

The woman’s jaw drops. She shook her head, letting out a small chuckle. “ _You don’t know what cookies are?”_

Clarke just shook her head slow.

“ _They’re amazing_ ,” the woman promised. “ _They’re… god, I eat a tad too many each day. You’ll love them, I swear that.”_

Clarke’s human side relents, and the takes a tentative step forward, as a sign. The woman smiles wide, gently tugging her along as she guides her through the station. They pad along through a couple corridors, and Clarke suddenly learns the feeling of claustrophobia. Not that she’d know the word. But she does feel like the very walls lean in, the artificial light stinging her eyes and making her dizzy. Sasha seems to hate it more than she does.

The woman doesn’t seem to mind Sasha. Though at the start, the woman had brought up the idea of leaving the wolf behind, grabbing a spare K-9 collar and leaving Sasha to wait outside. Clarke had scowled deeply at the idea, taking her hand out of the woman’s hold. The woman quickly learnt her mistake, and, sucking her teeth, decided that she’d just reap the consequences of letting a dog-that-could-be-a-wolf walk in with them.

“ _Alright, he can stay.”_

“ _She,”_ Clarke had corrected. The woman laughed softly, nodding her head in defeat.

“ _Of course, she.”_

When they were finally out of the corridors, and in what the woman called a ‘bull pen’, she gripped a little tighter to Clarke’s hand. She also stood a little closer, as did Sasha, who was now quite literally right at her hip. Her fur brushed against her legs. As they walked the pair caught stares, most being curious, others suspicious. Clarke saw how so clean everyone’s clothes were, how there wasn’t a single rip or tear. It baffled Clarke really, how was there not a speck on dirt on any of them? Her clothes had too many rips and tears too count, but they were small, and each one of them told a different story. Different memories. But these people’s, there was nothing. All the same, all so blank and empty.

Clarke tore her gaze away and focused on the one thing she knew.

Sasha.

She rested her free hand in the wolf’s fur, her yellow eyes turning around to meet her. Clarke could see, almost feel the apprehension in them, the blatant fear of being somewhere they both had not once ever set foot in. With humans they had never interacted with, save for Clarke of course. And even then, Clarke also saw the wolf that was by her side anyway. Who followed her out knowing just how stupid Clarke was being, but unable to stay back when she could be with her keeping her safe. Clarke felt something in her heart tighten, a slow warmth that rose and disappeared within the space of a breath.

 _‘Are you okay?_ ’ Sasha asked.

Clarke bobbed her head. She wasn’t really, but she felt comfortable in the woman’s presence. Sasha’s gaze lingered a few long moments before she finally turned back to the front again. Clarke’s hand still rested in the back of her fur.

The woman led Clarke to one of the far cream coloured walls, rows of plastic grey chairs lining them. She went to the middle of them, and for the girl’s sake, nudged one of them out of the way a bit so her dog (that _seriously_ looks like a wolf) could sit with her. The woman gestured to the seat, and Clarke hopped on like when she finds a fallen tree. Sasha crept in by Clarke’s side, planting herself in the newly formed gap.

“ _Right, now I'm just going to get those cookies okay? Are you good to just wait here? I won’t be long.”_ She fumbled a little with her pronunciation, since it had been so long since she’d used the near dead language. But Clarke got the message and dipped her head. The woman smiled warmly, briefly placing her hand atop of Clarke’s. “ _Good. I’ll be fast.”_

Clarke’s eyes followed the woman as she stood up and left. Despite the fact that she knew she would be coming back, something cold coiled in her stomach, sending shivers up her spine. She didn’t like it. Clarke waited, sitting in the chair, only to suddenly wonder why she was actually doing so. Why she was following whoever found interest to lead her around, and listening to people, creatures really, she had never met before. Clarke frowned, at herself. There’s a part of her that just barely differentiates from left to right, and there’s this other part that appears every now and again, nudging in odd directions.

Like coming back when she had gotten away. Why did she? What was the point in that? Or simply letting the owner take her all the way to the station, when at any point she could have gotten away. Why did she just let him take her, let him lead her to whatever is this place?

Half of it doesn’t make sense to her. And another half understands completely.

So where does that leave her?

There’s this excitement she has for this ‘cookie’, which the woman described as a really sweet tasting treat, or more importantly, food. Then there’s the flush of sudden distrust, of cautiousness. Like the food should hardly matter, but it’s the motive behind them that do.

She doesn’t even really know what motives are.

Yet a small, flickering part of her does.

She’s so deep in this sudden thought, that when someone lightly taps her shoulder she jumps. Sasha jumps up to her paws too, ever ready to defend her pack mate.

The woman who tapped her stepped back, holding up her hands clearly so Clarke could see. When her heart began to calm down, Clarke took in the woman before her. Because she wasn’t the woman who went out to get her cookies.

This woman was different.

Her eyes were dark brown like the other woman’s, but this woman’s skin was slighter lighter. Barely, as it still heavily reminded Clarke of the burnt bark on the trees near her cave. Her hair was short and thick, the wavy black strands standing perfectly tall. But what most caught Clarke’s attention was the curved black mark around her eye, like a half of a hollowed out circle with only the thick edges left, but the bottom and top had horizontal lines almost cutting across, yet still joining.

The woman remained staring at her, a puzzled crease in her brow.

“What are you doing here, child?” she asked, still standing. Clarke frowned at her, and Sasha sensed that this woman wasn’t yet a threat, so she lay back down. The woman crouched, and some of the other people, cops Clarke would learn later to be called, paused in their actions to watch their captain curiously. “Can you hear me?” she asked softly.

Clarke cocked her head to the side. It was a habit she picked up from Sasha. She tried to interpret the words meaning that the woman had said, her mind desperately reeling over any information she could find in her head. It took her a while, but she got there.

“Yes.” The English world felt strange in her mouth. Like it didn’t quite belong.

The woman noted how long it took Clarke to speak, and from the way her nose had scrunched in concentration she took a guess. “Do you speak English?”

More of the officers stopped what they were doing to peek at the child and their captain.

Clarke was very proud that she understood that sentence. She shook her head, her extraordinarily wild curls flying. “ _No, I speak trigedasleng._ ”

The woman’s eyes bulged, the corner of her lips tipping into a smile. It was dangerous territory, as she hardly ever smiled, and the cops who were scrutinizing the interaction knew this, their jaws almost dropped in shock.

“ _Your accent is very good.”_ The woman replied back in trigedasleng. Clarke kept staring at her, and though there was something normal, childish, in that stare, there was also something that the woman couldn’t quite place. Something that didn’t suit her age. It rattled something deep inside of her, as if someone had thrown a torch into a pitch-black cave, and now, for no real reason, her calloused hands were gripping a hold of it and fumbling her way out of the accustomed dark.

“ _Yours is like mine,”_ Clarke said, unable to stop her smile. “ _The other girl sounds different. But not yours.”_

It had been a long while since she’d spoken trigedasleng, and despite all the hardness that she prided herself on, trigedasleng was something that held a very dear, and soft, part of her heart. “ _Well, that’s because you’re very good at it._ ”

Clarke squinted her eyes, neither accepting nor denying the compliment. Her stare was oddly intense for an eight year old.

The woman decided she liked the girl.

“ _My name is Indra.”_ One of the cops who had been eaves-dropping on the out of place conversation spit out his drink at hearing his bosses first name. One of the others who was listening in actually stumbled.

Clarke studied Indra a tad bit longer before finally caving. There was something different about Indra, something Clarke could sense. An urge to protect herself and Sasha had flooded her veins, but the longer she had spoken, the more the urge had retreated.

“ _Klark._ ”

Indra nodded, something that to others was one of the highest forms of praise.

“ _And why are you here Klark?”_

Clarke blew out a long breath. That was what she was thinking on before. But she’d already given that thought enough attention, and right now she’d much rather be doing anything else. She was getting bored in this strange place, there seemed to be nothing to do but walk about, and walking about without trees or dirt or leaves seemed _extremely_ boring. She locked eyes with Indra, a daring move to most people, seeing she was waiting on an answer. But Clarke was far more interested with the mark on Indra’s face. She lifted a tiny finger, lightly pressing into the woman’s cheek.

 _“What’s that?”_ Clarke asked, her eyes following the curve of the mark. It was black, though it had faded a little with age.

And Indra actually chuckled.

It barely counted really, was more a breath of air that had a slight vocal tinge to it, but to Indra this was as close as you would ever get to full-on laughter with her.

Someone in the back fell over from hearing it.

“ _Distracted easily are you, child?_ ” Indra teased. Clarke poked the mark again, a frown on her face from Indra having not answered her question.

“ _Were you born with it?”_

Indra smirked. “ _No, I was not. This is a tattoo.”_

“ _A ta…too?”_ Clarke just looked even more confused. Indra adjusted herself so she was kneeling, her arm resting on her knee now. The woman nodded her head.

“ _It’s like a drawing. But it can never go away. It can never be erased, ripped, or smudged. It will be on my skin forever.”_

Clarke didn’t really know what a drawing was, though a vague memory nipped at her from when she was younger. When she was in a room with barely visibly light and her hands dragging crayons over paper, her entire focus on the drawing, and not of the shouting just by her door. “ _A drawing is… marks, lines on paper?”_

“ _Yes, they are.”_ Indra said. She knotted her brows. Clarke’s lack of knowledge was worrying. She let her eyes flick over the girl; again taking in the obvious disheveled and wild look about her. The dirt on her arms and legs, the few twigs in her hair. It was obvious she had a love for the outdoors, but Indra was beginning to wonder on whether it was more than that. Her instincts were barking at her that it was.

Indra watched Clarke for a little longer, only taking her gaze off when she saw Clarke was staring at something else. She followed Clarke’s line of sight, finding it to reach the receptionist. The woman was standing slack jawed. She rarely had meetings with the captain, and even rarer was to hear the woman actually speak more than two words. So the fact of her walking into a conversation, that her captain was holding, somehow, easily, _casually_ , it was a little shocking.

When she noticed that Indra now had her glaring gaze at her, she rushed to shut her jaw. She took a few slow steps forward, carefully crouching down next to the blonde girl. Indra watched every one of the girl’s movements, and for some reason she felt like a deer that was being watched by a lion.

The woman reached out her hand to Clarke, and held snugly between her fore finger and thumb was a cookie.

Clarke stared at it at first, not actually knowing what the woman was offering her. The woman offered a small smile, but Clarke didn’t notice how it was strained due to Indra’s presence. Tentatively, Clarke lifted her hand and took the cookie the woman’s hands.

“ _This is the cookie I promised you.”_ The woman said. Clarke was unable to pry her gaze off the cookie. If felt hard, but not too hard. It was pale, but small black dots were decorated into the food, and when Clarke let her finger linger on one for too long she learnt with a start that they melted. Clarke took her hand off the cookie, staring at the chocolate stain on her finger in amazement. She had never seen anything like this before. So you can imagine her wonderful surprise when she actually bit into it.

She looked up to the woman with unbelievably wide eyes. The woman chuckled gently at the sight, gesturing for Clarke to eat more. For some reason Clarke was still a little hesitant, and when her eyes drifted over to Indra’s, the woman actually smiled. It was very, very subtle. But it was a smile.

Clarke took that as assurance enough and scarfed down the rest of the cookie.

Indra snorted. The woman beside her snapped her head on to her like she had just claimed she knew the cure to every disease known to mankind. Indra threw a glare at the girl, and the woman brought her sight back to the floor with red cheeks.

“Why is she here?” Indra questioned, her eyes the finding the woman’s. It seemed like the shock had past, though the intimidation was still clear as day.

“The grocery owner down the street came in with her and said she stole an apple. Took a bite out of one right in front of him, and when she got caught stuffed a few in her shirt and ran off.” She took a breath, her hand coming up behind her neck. “He dropped her off saying she’s off the hook, just that he wants her parents to find her. He said she could be a runaway.”

Indra scowled, but her scowl was so much like her resting face so that the woman couldn’t really tell. Clarke could, apparently, even if she followed none of that conversation. The cookie was long gone, only crumbs on the edge of her lips as evidence of its presence ever being there. Clarke raised a brow at Indra, like she was asking why she’d make her face like that. Indra was surprised the blonde had noticed, let alone cared. It startled her enough that for a moment, she didn’t know what to say.

Which may not seem like a lot.

But to someone who always, _always_ knows what to say, never chances with surprise and could name every face to name in this entire town – being left speechless is very rare.

So when Indra finally found something to say, she didn’t intend for the anger that hid behind her words.

“ _Where are your parents, Klark? Why have they not come for you?_ ”

That word again. Parents. It stumps Clarke but at the same time it doesn’t. The answer is easy, but it’s also not.

She tries to answer, but ends up in just hanging her head.

Parents.

She thinks she had two of them once.

There’s a sudden sound, like the stomping of boots and the rustling of paper, then a shout. _Ma’am! Ma’am! Please, I’m going to have ask you to come back or-_

Someone is shouldering their way through the doors, and it’s not exactly a slam, but the doors still swung open with a surprising amount of force. The person, a woman Clarke can now see, keeps on walking like nothing happened. Behind her, a cop in uniform staggers through with a frustrated huff. He leaned his weight against the doorframe, lifting a single hand.

“Ma’am,” he sighed, partly for irritation and partly for catching his breath. “You will let me escort you back to your car, if you have a problem-“

She cuts him off, though Clarke doesn’t hear what she says. It’s mostly because the moment the woman speaks, she feels every muscle in her body tightening, and she doesn’t know whether it’s in pure fear, or absolute, and total joy. Clarke’s sight is locked on the woman and though she can distantly hear someone trying to get her attention all Clarke can see is that brunette who she knows she knows.

The woman is arguing with the man, and with a sigh she lets her gaze casually sweep over the room. Except it snares on Clarke. And she freezes.

Clarke’s feels every ounce of breath leave her lungs.

Tears are escaping from the woman’s eyes before she can stop it. She laughs, but its halfway worked into a sob, and the sound seems to unlock her limbs because in seconds she’s running carelessly towards her, shoving and jumping over anything in her path, in her way of Clarke.

Indra stands up defensively, an instinct more than a logical thought. She moves to stand in front of Clarke, but suddenly she’s feeling something push her legs back, and her sight falls onto Clarke who’s sprinting as fast as her little legs can take her till she launches into the air.

And right into the woman’s open arms.

Clarke had been trying to remember her voice for so long, but the moment she heard it there was no mistaking.

It was her mothers.

Abby was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. But it didn’t matter; nothing mattered compared to the fact that she was holding her daughter who should have been dead in her arms. She’s stuck halfway in trying to breathe in the almost forgotten smell of her, and just trying to breathe in general. The only sounds she can utter out are just her name, her name, over and over and over and over.

She had come to the station on a whim.

She had been doing the usual grocery shopping, deciding to get it done early in the morning because she knows that she’ll be in for a long shift tonight at the hospital. She vaguely knew the owner, chatted every once and while and offered smiles. She knew that he had two kids, that one was in their last year of high school and the other their first year of college. When she got to the register with her chosen produce, she had seen the weary look of the man. She had asked about what was wrong, and for some reason he was feeling talkative, because he told her the truth.

A little blonde eight year old girl, who was possibly a runaway, with a dog that looked oddly like a wolf.

Abby had looked into less.

And dear god was she glad she looked into this one.

The overwhelming scent of her mother was almost too much for Clarke, and it took all of her effort to keep her grip to her mother’s jacket tight so she wouldn’t slip. She could hear her Mum saying her name over and over in her ear, like a chant, like if she said it enough times this would all turn out to be real and not a sick trick her mind was playing on her. Clarke was almost tempted to say it back. To prove it, and maybe, maybe to send a prayer that this was real too.

“You’re alive,” Abby breathed. Her face was buried into Clarke’s neck. “You’re actually alive.”

Clarke couldn’t understand her. Not on a linguistics level, but on so many others, _so_ many others, she felt the words vibrate into her very bones. She suppressed a sob, and Abby finally pulled out of the embrace. Her shaking hands held Clarke’s small shoulders.

“God, look at you,” her brown eyes were shining. “So beautiful.” She tried to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear but the sight of her daughter’s blue eyes, just so innocently staring up at her, her heart broke. Into a million pieces that she’s sure to pick up the scraps later. Clarke reached out a trembling hand, letting it touch her mothers face. The feeling was… indescribable. Like a thousand electric jolts has buzzed up her arm, and whether the origins were her mother or her she couldn’t know, all she did know was the relief that was sure to swallow her whole.

But Abby knew better.

And it broke her that she did.

A sob broke out on her lips, and she fought to swallow the other one down. She fumbled to reach into her pocket, pulling out a white piece of paper and slowly putting into Clarke’s small hands. She rolled her fingers over them.

“I’m sorry Clarke. I’m so, _so_ sorry.” She leant forward and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “But if I found you they will too. And I’m not letting them touch you.” She heaved an extremely shaky breath, so shaky that a few of the cops who were helplessly watching the reunion debated on whether to find medical help. She let their foreheads rest against each other. “Jake was right.”

At her fathers name Clarke’s head is instantly lifting up. Abby’s eyes are closed, the rims of them red. Still, Clarke tried with all her might to search them.

“Dad?” Clarke whispered. She knows that word. It sticks out in her memories, that word is his. And his alone. Abby pulled her daughter in for her hug again. Briefly, she caught Indra’s eye, and the moment she did the woman gave her a barely noticeable nod. She then spun on her heel and headed for her office, not doubling back on any of the strange stares she had the entire way.

Clarke clung desperately to her mother, always making sure some part of was touching her. The contact, no matter her small, was enough the revamp an entire set of emotions and feelings that hadn’t been touched in over three years, the compartment for the emotions tight and constricted. But all it had taken was a look, a look that said what a thousand words couldn’t say. Her mother, right there, the joy so, so, bright in her eyes, you couldn’t put feelings like that to words. To speech. There’s nothing like the real thing.

And Clarke was just realising how much of the real thing she missed.

Abby held out her daughter again, a last look. A last glance at Pompeii, right before the ash falls. She smiled through her tears. “You’re alive,” Abby whispered. She had no idea how. But she was, here she fucking _was_. She knew she didn’t have long. Abby raked through her brain for the phrase she had heard Jake use so many times on her, on Clarke. “ _Ai hod yu in Clarke._ ”

“ _Ai hod you in seintaim._ ” Clarke whispered back. Abby let her hand cup Clarke’s jaw, let her thumb wipe away the tears that shed there.

“I’m sorry.”

Clarke frowned. She knew that word; it was one of the few she knew. But right now she had no idea what her mother meant by it, especially when it was said like that. Like…

Clarke felt that cold feeling in her stomach. That same feeling back in her first night in the cave, when her parents had left.

Dread.

Abby suddenly grasped Clarke’s hand, and with it she practically ran to the bathroom, her daughter barely keeping up pace to meet her steps. With a splintering kick to the door Abby led Clarke inside, instantly walking to the end wall and glancing up. A window. Abby turned back around, seeing the wolf still standing loyally by Clarke’s side. The wolf watched her, and for some reason she thought she saw respect in that wolf’s eye. Abby rushed back to Clarke’s side, and just as went to kneel down in front of her, the lights cut off.

Abby held Clarke’s shoulders before she could panic.

“Get outside, and read the note.” She told her, but even in the dim light she could see Clarke’s frown. There was a sudden bang, and then a loud, almost deafening hiss. Abby let out a hiss of her own, hauling Clarke to the other side of the bathroom and preparing to lift her up. She glanced nervously down at the wolf, and figured she could get her up too. Clarke looked to her mother again, so much on her tongue, but no words falling out. Abby leant down to give one last kiss to her hair, and swallowing down her own heartbroken sob, she pulled herself back up. She grabbed Clarke from under the armpits, lifting her up with the minimal strength she had. Shouts began to ring out throughout the precinct.

Abby was sure she couldn’t even feel her own heartbeat.

Even though Clarke didn’t understand what Abby had said she still pushed out the window when her mother put her up to it. She may have been eight, but she had common sense. Clarke began crawling through, but she stopped halfway. Her body was small enough that she could lie down, half in, half out.

“ _What’s happening?”_ Clarke asked, more shouts being heard. They were now mixed with a few grunts.

“Just get out Clarke,” Abby urged. She tried to reach up, patting her pocket. She couldn’t quite reach, but Clarke followed where her finger was closest and it led back to where she put the note. “Read it, read it and do what it says. Okay?”

Clarke stared at her. Abby gave her a sad smile.

They both flinched when the door suddenly rattled. Abby scrambled for it, lining her back against it. She didn’t say anything, but she nodded at Clarke.

“Go Clarke,” she whispered.

Clarke’s hands gripped white to the ledge. She couldn’t hide her tears, the fear, the emotion everything was far too much. The whirlwind of it all left her nauseous and confused. She glanced down to Sasha, seeing her ready her legs in a preparation to jump the window when Clarke goes through. When she looked back over to her Mum, her face was full of panic.

“Go!” she shouted, and the sound was so loud, so broken, that Clarke jumped. And she fell through the window, on the other side.

For a moment, Clarke just lied down on the ground breathing.

Fast and heavy, her vision muddled and dabbling on blurry. She blinked, the sun’s sudden assault unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. The second she got herself up to the shaky legs, a presence was landing beside her.

Sasha.

The wolf barked, already running the heartbeat her paws found ground. Clarke stumbled on after her, more instinct than anything. They ran from the shouts and grunts, the snarls and roars, and, when it was all over, they ran far enough away that when the silence finally ensued; Clarke was back in the forest.

She’s blinking to keep herself awake, though she’s not sure why. She doesn’t understand what just happened in anyway, so it could have been the emotional turmoil that has her swaying, but something tells her it isn’t. Her run turns into a stagger, a stagger into a walk. And, dimly aware of glancing down and seeing a mass of red on her leg, Clarke’s walk turned to a fall.

She wakes up in her cave.

It’s dark outside, and Clarke has no idea what time it is or where she even is for the first moments. Then, once she fights through her memories haze, she’s gasping so loud to check her pockets that she jolts Nethon awake, the black wolf that had been sleeping by her side. Ignoring his bark of excitement and relief is difficult, but Clarke does it for her mother. For remembering the look in her eye, the tone in her voice.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the note. When she folded it open, the white paper crinkled over long use. It was in trigedasleng, but the wording was hesitant, unsure. As if person didn’t quite know how to write it, but did it anyway. Clarke squinted her eyes in the dark to read.

And when she did, once again all the air left her lungs.

But it wasn’t in the good way like before.

_Run._

_You are no longer safe. Find a new home._

_Run Clarke._

-

They leave the second the sun is up.

She relays the message to Nethon, and though he’s at first hesitant to leave his usual territory, it’s the panic, the fear and despair that cling in Clarke’s eye that has him caving. He gathers the pack, lets out one last howl. A howl of goodbye, something deeper and stronger woven in the chords, something words could never reproduce. Clarke got a cut on her leg from falling down back at the station; she had partially landed on a rogue glass piece from a nearby broken window. At first, she had just stared at it in confusion and fear.

What did she need to do? Why was there so much red?

It was in the midst of her panic that she felt that feeling in chest, and, with a whisper that reminded Clarke of someone from her past, she heard a barely there voice.

_Cover the wound; wrap it tight with a piece of your shirt._

At first Clarke had glanced around, trying to find a source for the voice. She locked eyes with Nethon who was standing close nearby, but he merely tilted his at head her, confused for Clarke’s sudden attention. Clarke doesn’t really know why, but for some reason she decides to just go with the voice. She finds the backpack Nethon had showed her and pulls out one of her old shirts that doesn’t quite fit anymore. She rips a piece, wraps it as tight as she can around her leg, and when she’s suddenly stumped on how to make sure it doesn’t just unravel – the voice is there again. It tells her how to tie it, but in her mind she sees the movements. She copies them and the wound is covered.

Clarke’s injury does slow the pack down as they move out.

She can’t run like she wants to, and for no reason that she can work out, the pack slow for her. The seven wolves adjust their formation so Clarke is in the middle, Nethon and Sasha on either side of her. They’re so close that their fur tickles her skin. All of the wolves are wary, and it seems to become a unanimous decision, that the protection of Clarke, of their injured family, is the highest priority.

None of them leave her side till they find a new home.

-

Two years pass fast.

After the meeting with her mother, Clarke decides to put the effort to learn English. She learns it’s for some reason _much_ harder than trigedasleng where she just looks at something and the word pops up in her mind. She can speak it much better now, her rise and fall of the syllables smoother. English is a trying journey, and the only reason she manages to push through without remorse is the fact that Nethon offers his aid, his support. Sasha does too, as does Sheila. They have no mind to learn it, but through supporting Clarke, letting her practice with them, they pick up a couple phrases. The only difference is they never understand when she speaks it out loud.

Clarke learns that she can talk with them without actually talking.

She can talk back to them through her mind, like how they communicate verbally with her.

They find another cave. It’s larger than the last one, but it’s lower as well. It doesn’t rest on the hill like their previous home, but this one goes deeper into the rock wall, far deeper.

She’s ten now.

She’s gotten extremely good at running, and now instead of dwindling near the back of the pack she’s pushed her way up to the middle, not quite fast enough to reach Nethon. For any fallen trees, stumps, random dips in the ground, she glides past them with a sort of second sense. It’s extremely easy now, a comfort even. It means that Nethon has taken a greater focus on teaching her to be quiet, stealthy.

Clarke is not the best at first.

But she gets it.

She learns where to place her foot, the way she needs to roll it careful so no leaves crack under it. When she gets that, they move on to positioning herself. Clarke has better senses than the average person, being able to pick up the sounds she shouldn’t and being able to attribute certain scents to different people. What Nethon teaches her is to actually use it. How to follow a scent, the signs of prey and danger, how making direct eye contact is a challenge, and if she doesn’t want a fight, she must avert her eyes. He brings her along to every hunt now, makes her shadow him, follow and mimic his movements. And he makes her watch when he makes the killing move on his prey, not in any malicious intent, but to show her where to strike. The weak points, the mercy points, where the moment you push something in far enough there there’s no coming back.

She gets less queasy each time. But it does still unnerve her.

Not forever though.

She play fights with Sasha now. A little more serious than before. The blonde wolf is considered an older member now, having reached the age of seven. She’s one of the biggest ones, excluding Nethon and Sheila. When she pounces for Clarke her legs are powerful, her darts and dashes are impossibly quick, and Clarke often finds herself with a hulking wait on top of her, a pair of razor sharp teeth hanging inches above her nose.

And then Sasha rolls off her with a yip and they go again.

She may not be as fast, but she learns that she has different advantages. She had learnt this when she went out a little further to explore their new territory, and after a while of trudging through, Clarke saw a tree. But not just any tree, a big tree. Like a _big_ damn tree. Clarke looked up at it with wide eyes, her mouth hanging open. The branches at the top could probably reach the clouds themselves.

What Clarke learnt that day is that she can climb.

Something that not even Nethon can do.

She uses this to her advantage as much as she can. It’s very hard to find an upper hand with someone like Nethon, whose eyes catch even the dimmest of movements. His biggest downfall though, is that he’s taught Clarke everything he knows. Clarke enjoys climbing trees, clambering up the branches and perching herself with a crouch on one of the far stretching limbs. Sometimes, she edges a little back so she can hide within the cover of the leaves, and, when any of her pack walk by under her, she jumps on them.

The day that she finally got Nethon was a very, very good day.

She rubs it in his face at any moment she can for the next two weeks.

Those two years go on without much incident, and as the years roll on Clarke’s role in the pack greatens. She manages to get the fickle basics of English, and she finds the note she that was given to her when she was five, going through each word one by one. Finally, she manages to read the letter that her mother written her five years ago.

Except in the second year, something happens. And it’s not bad; it doesn’t derail Clarke’s life like when she had snuck into that town. No, this something is actually very good.

Nethon and Sheila have a litter.

-

Clarke sees her pack as brother and sister at this point. So when there’s a new addition, Clarke happily accepts them as family. The cave is now a den, and it takes months before she sees Sheila ever leave it. Instead, Clarke spends the majority of her time in the den. She babysits the pups, which are so unbelievably adorable and small that the moment she sees them the part of her that isn’t quite human latches on, and it decides with its whole heart that nothing bad is ever going to happen to them.

She takes turn baby-sitting with the pack. Some of her brothers even fight for it, but it seems that whenever it comes to Clarke she’s instantly allowed to come in, to sit down close to the pups and watch over them. For the first week they’re blind, just tiny fluff balls that bumble around aimlessly. They spend most of their time at Sheila’s belly, sucking for milk. Clarke also notices that all of their eyes are blue, a little darker and more intense than hers. When three weeks pass, they start exploring the den. Clarke has to chase the occasional one that makes a break for the entrance and into the outside world.

When eight weeks have passed, the blue is all their eyes has faded to yellow, and their love for playing becomes suddenly known.

They now eat meat, and some of them have tried their hardest at pouncing at a possum or bird. They don’t succeed often. Clarke learns with a delight of their playfulness, and she spends a lot of her days just chasing them around, or them chasing her. Sometimes Clarke pretends to trip and the ones who were tailing her would jump on her, yipping and barking in victory, and Clarke can only giggle and gently let her hands smooth their growing fur.

Most of them are black. There were five of them, three black, and two a more shaggy brown that almost verges on blonde. Clarke loves them all equally, and as she plays with them or helps them eat their food, she never notices the stares she gets from Nethon. The stare of him watching her from a cave, something like pride shining so incredibly bright from his eyes. The pride of a father.

Summer’s coming, which means soon the year will be over.

The pup’s had been born in early spring, and now they’re about four months old. The pack stay exceedingly close to the pups, and even though the sun was coming out more and they were given the chance to lie on sunbaked rocks; most of them were cautious. Careful. There was lingering tension in the pack, but it wasn’t from anger or anything so harsh. It was much worse really.

Two of the adult wolves had died in a bear attack.

They had passed away about a month ago, but the unsettlement was still present in the family. Clarke was learning was grief was. She learnt that it hurt, and that for some reason, it was also familiar. They had gone on a hunt, Sasha and Clarke staying back for the pups. She knew something was wrong when they took longer than usual to come back, the sun falling dangerously low. So when they did come, when three came back instead of five, Clarke somehow knew already what had happened. She didn’t quite understand death, but the idea of never being able to see them again, never see their tail wag or eyes shine, was enough to have her crying till the late hours of the night.

But she didn’t cry alone.

Because Sasha, and Nethon, and even the pups, they all curled up around the sobbing blonde. Because when any creature makes sounds like those, it’s impossible not to hear the sheer grief and pain in them. The remaining wolves of the pack came in and lied close to her.

Clarke’s heart may have been screaming in agony, but it wasn’t into silence.

The wolves stayed till she finally fell asleep. And then they fell asleep too, never leaving her side.

Not even when the sun rose.

-

It’s near the end December now, and while the heat had been timid at first it seemed as if it had grown bored of its slow approach. Clarke rises when the sun does, but the moment she steps out into the light the heat is like a wave, rushing at her so intensely that she was almost tempted to step back. She casts a quick glance back into the den, spotting the sleeping forms of Nethon and his mate. They lie close, but there’s a clear gap between him and the other blonde wolf near him, a spot where someone would have been. Where Clarke had been. There’s a warmth that glows in her chest from knowing they purposely slept near her, but it’s gone as quick as the wind changes. She heads out.

She goes on a run.

It’s something she’s been doing increasingly often.

Running gives her a sense of calm, the small breath of comfort that settles gently on her skin. She just runs, with no destination or goal, the only restraint being not to stray too far, and to never venture anywhere near where they had come from when they first moved here. She avoids humans like the plague now. She hasn’t seen one since the ordeal at the police station.

She runs further out than usual, but the moment her mind comes back enough that she realises this she slows down. Her breathing is ragged from pushing so hard, and she swears she can feel her legs shaking slightly. Her eyes catch sight of a nearby fallen tree, and she eagerly limps over to the log and sits down. She can’t stop her sigh of relief. Deciding that she wants to be able to lean her back Clarke gets off the log, but instantly sits down, instead with the log behind her as a back rest. When she leans against it, letting all the tension out, she hums faintly.

It’s surprisingly comfortable. Like, really comfortable. Maybe it’s because she was so tired, or that fact that her feet felt numb anyway, so the relief of not holding her weight against them is much needed. Appreciated. There’s a small pulsing in her head, and it’s not long before her eyes are drooping.

Within seconds, her resolve to stay awake slips like sand through her hands. Her eyes shut, and the world goes dark.

She wakes up with a jolt.

It’s a sound that wakes her up, the undeniable crunch of a branch being stepped on. Her heart pounds so hard in her chest it hurts, and it takes a second or two for her to blink away the sleep in her eye. When she finally gets her sight back, she instinctually glances up and sees the sun halfway through the sky. She groaned. Nethon was probably awake by now.

The thought of having her ear chewed off by Nethon is almost to make her forget the reason she even woke up so suddenly.

She stilled. Her eyes analyze the forest around her, looking for any signs of life or danger. When she doesn’t see anything, she trains her ears, and the dread that claws up her spine from not hearing a single sound makes her breathing quicken. Not even the birds were talking. There was nothing.

Which meant there was something here.

Clarke swallowed the sudden dryness in her throat, and it scrapes down as if she had gulped a rock. Slowly, she moved her hand to her sides, and the second that she pushes herself up to shaky legs; she’s suddenly not alone anymore.

It’s a bear.

It’s big, so big that Clarke actually staggers back a couple steps in shock. Its fur is a light brown, its eyes too dark a colour for Clarke to tell. But those eyes are stuck on hers, its steps slow and steady as it edged closer towards her. Every muscle in her locked. She couldn’t move. Seeing the bear and knowing that that was what her pack mates had least seen, knowing that for all she knew this could be the one that killed her family; the fear was so great it became paralyzing.

She didn’t move, and the bear came closer.

Clarke wasn’t sure if she was breathing. Her head was spinning too fast for her to catch up to it, to grabs its reigns and pull it back so she could just take a moment to _think_. It’s a few metres away now. Too, too close. The only thing that Clarke knew was that she had to get away, to safety. She vaguely remembers bears being able to climb, so it crosses out the usual method. Thankfully, the thought to run is enough to slowly unlock her body, as if it were a massive door with a million locks, and one by one, they were coming off. She tried to breath, and when she did, when her lips parted at her command, the rest of her body came too.

And she ran.

The moment she moved the bear snarled, a sound that she never, ever wants to hear again. It’s almost as painful as a swipe, but she blocks out the turmoil at the sound and instead just runs as fast she can. She doesn’t go the way she came. It’s too open. She can hear the bear’s thunderous steps behind her, as if it had boulders for feet. She takes the off route, right through the trees and nature’s debris. She steers her body for the most complicated route, with the most jumps and turns and slides as she can put in, and the adrenaline is so thick in her veins that it feels like nothing as she leaps through it with an unruly grace. She doesn’t dare turn her head around, but she can hear the occasional roar when the bear hits a tree, or the same terrifying snarl when the gap in between two trees that Clarke slipped through is too small, and it’s forced to go around.

She runs till she doesn’t hear the bear anymore, and the first thing she sees as she stumbles out into a clearing, is a cave. Safety.

Clarke practically dives for it.

She’s never been so happy to be in a cave before, but the fear in her is still highly present so she goes as far as she can into the cave. With the light barely touching her, she pushes herself into the corner of the cave, lifting up her legs and wrapper her arms around them. She tries to make herself as small as possible, just in case the bear walked by. The only thing she could pray for was that it had lost Clarke’s scent when she barreled through the river. Her clothes were still wet from it.

The silence is deafening.

It feels like it’s pressing in on her ears, as if the pressure in the cave is building. She can only hear her ragged breaths, and she has to squeeze her eyes shut to stop from crying. Her entire body is shaking. She can’t help it. Her breathing begins to slow the longer time goes on, the coldness in her veins opening up to warmth. Finally, her breathing begins to even, and she takes a long calming breath through her nose to expel the lingering anxiety.

Except she picks up a scent.

One that she had missed since she was so caught up in her fear.

And just now does she actually take a second to examine the cave, spotting the few bones in the corner. The same fear comes back grinning, slipping through her lungs and infecting her very heart.

This isn’t just a cave. It’s the _bear’s_ cave.

With a gasp she scrambled up to her feet, but the moment she’s up and staring at the one exit she’s freezing. As if the realisation alone had summoned it, the bear was there. Right at the mouth. For some reason, Clarke could tell that it was surprised, but the feeling peeled away quickly for anger. She pushes her back against the cave wall, and as the bear stalks towards her she waits till she sees the signs of him preparing to launch. When she catches the minute movement and the bear goes flying towards her with a bone-chilling roar, Clarke dives under it.

It claws just miss her, but the tips of them catch her shirt.

The fabric rips easily, and there’s a slight pain that throbs from where the claws drew but pain isn’t blinding so Clarke tries to shake it off. She brings herself back up to two legs, lifting up her hands. The bear turns back on her with a snarl, but he doesn’t make another lunge. There’s a sudden pain in her ankle, and Clarke realises that she must have landed badly on it when she jumped.

It means that her chances of out running it again are slim.

Something in her stops her from crying.

She doesn’t know what else to do, her mind being too simultaneously exhausted and hyperactive to communicate with. So she does the only thing that she can do. She tries to talk to it.

“ _Please, I’m not going to hurt you,_ ” her voice trembled, but Clarke couldn’t find the ability to care. All she knew was she had to get out. The bear paused in his step. Clarke’s blue eyes widened.

The bear stared at her. But there was something different about it from before, almost as if it was curious.

“ _I just want to go home._ ” Clarke tried, taking the smallest step back. The bear growled low when she did this so she hastily brought it back. It stopped growling.

It was still looking at her strangely, and a few times it opened its mouth only to shut it again. It was quiet for so long that Clarke was about to dare another step back but then, out of nowhere, it spoke. Not with it’s jaw though.

‘ _You’re in my home.’_

Clarke blinked. The voice appeared in her head, and though it came through like how Nethon’s does, the sound was slightly different. Raspier, as if it was crunching gravel. The discovery that she could talk to it like she does with Nethon, was enough that for a moment she forgot it was trying to kill her.

She bobbed her head. “ _I know, I didn’t mean too. You scared me. I ran._ ”

‘ _I only chased you because you ran.’_ The bear replied. Its voice was smoother than this time, the words less disjointed and awkward.

“ _Alright, would it be okay if I left then?’_ Clarke asked. The bear squinted its eyes, in confusion more than anything. The blonde tried again. “ _Can I leave?”_

The tension in the beginning had been thick, bordering on suffocating, but slowly it was drifting away, leaving the air as it lost its purpose. The bear didn’t answer right away, instead narrowing its eyes at her. Not with any malicious intent, but it wasn’t calm either. Clarke waited it out, too afraid to do anything else. The tension in air finally dissipated.

The bear took a step back, adjusting itself till it was lying down. It didn’t say anything, so Clarke took a slow cautious step back in test to see if it was going to let her go. It didn’t growl this time, and the pressure that released itself off her chest left her slightly dizzy. She took another step, and another, painstakingly slow and careful, but every time it just watched her, not moving. Her steps became faster, surer. She edged further back. It didn’t move. She could feel the sun at her back now, and the shallow scars there buzzed in the sun’s glow. She didn’t smile, but she did have to force herself to clamp down on the urge too. Smiling could be taken as a threat Nethon had told her, that showing her teeth was also a challenge. When the light was about to touch her hair, and she’d finally be free, she heard a snarl.

But it wasn’t from the bear.

She whirled her sight behind her, and her jaw dropped to see Nethon there, his eyes darker than she’d ever seen. She glanced between the snarling wolf and the bear, but before she could tell Nethon she was fine and the bear meant no harm, Nethon pounced.

Clarke tried to reach for him as he did but missed. He dove right at its neck, but he only stayed there for a moment before the bear was swinging him off. Like a ragdoll the black wolf was slammed into the cave wall and fell to the ground in a lump. Clarke screamed, rushing over to him in pure instinct. The bear prepared itself for another strike, but Clarke grabbed Nethon’s hind legs and pulled, the bear’s claws landing where he should have been. Its eyes snapped onto hers with a snarl, and Clarke tried her best in snarling back. The sound was stronger than she expected, but she paid no mind to it and instead focusing on pulling Nethon to his feet. With a few whimpers, he swayed up on them.

The bear barreled for them, but apparently Nethon had regained his strength because he grabbed Clarke by the back of her shirt with his teeth, yanking her back. He moved himself as well, his body just missing the bears own. The wolf knew very clearly when he was outmatched, and with a final snarl his eyes cut to Clarke, offering a barely seen nod. But it was enough. Clarke bolted for the exit, Nethon on her heel.

The bear would’ve chased after them, but the chunk the wolf had ripped just below his neck made him sway. His body fell to the ground with a pained roar.

Her ankle barked at her the entire way, and it seemed the only reason that Clarke was even running was that the adrenaline was enough to block it out. The pain from it was like a distant hum. Nethon was much slower than usual, dangerously so, but Clarke knew that she couldn’t think about that if she wanted to get him home in one piece. So she ignored it, ignored his exceedingly heavy breathing and the way he’d trip every few minutes or so, the strength in his limbs weak.

When they finally made it back to their home Clarke couldn’t hold off her tears any longer. It seemed that Nethon couldn’t hold it off any longer either, but instead of tears it was consciousness. With one last pained whine, he stumbled and fell to the dirt. Hearing that sound, a sound that she had never once heard before, broke everything inside of Clarke.

She almost gave up right there. Almost decided to just sit by his side and cry, and pray that somehow he’d be all right and he wouldn’t leave her.

But she didn’t.

A part of her wanted to, mostly the human part, but the other screamed at her, roared at her to keep going. And it wasn’t just the non-human side that was yelling that too. Clarke took a shuddering breath, wiping the escaped tears with the back of small hand. Then she leant down, grasped Nethon’s hind legs and began pulling. She couldn’t actually hold him, as her small size didn’t allow it, but she could drag him.

And drag she did.

He kept making sounds, tiny, tiny sounds. Small whimpers and harsh breaths. It was a good sign, it meant that he was still there, and Clarke buried her heart in that knowledge and didn’t let herself think of anything else. As she drew closer to the den the rest of pack came sprinting for her, rushing for their alpha. Clarke had to snap at them to get out the way when they kept nudging him and tried to make Clarke stop. The severity of the situation made her growl harshly at her family, and she was extremely thankful when at the sound they finally let her be.

She hauled his body into the den, ordering for Sheila to keep the pups away. The wolf growled at her, demanding to be by her mates side. Clarke gave in with a sigh, letting Sasha take the duty of looking over the pups. When her pack mates kept invading the space, she made them go look after the pups too.

Clarke finally let herself look over Nethon.

His breathing was much slower now, too slow. She felt the urge to cry again and god only knows how she suppressed it. Sheila was pacing by her side, whining and huffing for Nethon. Clarke drew her fingers through his fur, a wet patch catching them. Blood. Clarke leaned in closer, unable to stop her gasp from the cut deep into the side of his belly. It look like it had grown, and Clarke knows that it was probably from when he ran with her. She shook her head at him, as if he could see.

She suddenly reaslied she had no idea what to do. Her instinct was only to get him somewhere safe where no further harm could come, and she had done that. In the den he was safe, she had done her job. But what was she meant to do now? Watch his life slowly slip away?

She pushed her hand as hard as she could against the wound to try and slow the bleeding, some distant urge kicking at her to do so. Nethon groaned loudly from it. She could see his breathing slowing even more, preparing for its final breath. She wanted to scream in frustration, her hand shaking incredibly violently. Sheila whined again, the worry and pain in them growing. It was in the midst of the chaos, the realisation that she was going to lose him, that Clarke heard an out of place sound.

A whisper, one that she could have sworn she recongised.

 _Let it free_.

Clarke frowned. Let what free?

_Inside, you must free it from inside. Your heart, your blood, your lungs. Let it free._

Nethon’s breathing stopped.

_Let it free Clarke._

Her name. There was only person who said it like that. She struggled to breathe.

_Now Clarke._

It was the second time that did it. There was that warmth, that presence in her chest again, except this time it was stronger than it had ever been before. It’s burning intensity almost made her want to scream, but she bit her tongue and instead just squeezed her eyes shut. The warmth in her chest grew till it was burning hot, as if it was growing and growing and growing. When she was sure it was about to burst through her very skin, the warmth instead spread down into her arms, and from there it pushed even further, racing through every vein and cell until it reached the tips of her fingers. And then, it bled into Nethon.

Clarke had no idea what was happening. Her body didn’t feel like it was quite her own, but it also felt like it suddenly was, like for entire life it had never quite been and only now was it finally breathing its first breath of air. She suddenly felt old, like she was older than universe itself, like everything around her had become so small in comparison to her, to everything. For the first time in Clarke’s life, the human part of her had shrunk. And now the side that had barely raised its head was standing.

Nethon’s chest began rising again, and as the fire that burned through her arms began to reach a temperature too high, it slowly started to retract. The presence in her chest sunk back into its usual depths, and as Clarke’s eyes fluttered open, so did Nethon’s.

She retracted her hands from his side, and when she looked where they had been, she saw the scar that had once been there was gone. Completely, as if it had never been. Nethon pushed himself up to his feet, and moment he did Sheila was rushing at him, her head rubbing against every inch of him. She yipped and yapped in glee, and the sound of it had the other pack mates daring a glance in. When they saw their alpha standing proud, they all came barreling. They all rubbed up against him affectionately, and when they all had had their fair share they began a deafening howl, one so loud that it was wonder the skies didn’t fall from such a sound.

Clarke just stood off to the side, her attention mostly on the small steady throb of pain on her back. But through the boisterous howling, Clarke caught Nethon’s eye, finding him to be already staring at her.

She didn’t know what was in his eyes. There was so much there, so much desperately trying to break the surface. So Clarke just smiled at him.

And wolves can’t smile.

But dear god, can their eyes shine.

-

She becomes a sort healer for the pack.

She goes on all their runs and hunts, and whenever one gets injured its now her designated job to heal them. It strengthens her bond considerably with the pack, and it means that no longer do they see her as a human who happens to be with them, but as something that no words could ever describe. The only word that even comes close is sister. And so they go with that.

The day after Nethon’s healing, Clarke goes back to the bear’s cave.

She’s surprised to find its still there.

There’s a small lake of blood that pools at the bottom of its fur, but Clarke can see its slow, but steady breathing. She creeps up to it, and it tries to growl, tries to push her away. But its arms are weak, its throat barely able to let out a threatening growl. In the end it just gives up and lets her approach it.

Clarke rests her hand against the bite that had just missed its jugular, and with closed eyes she calls that presence to her chest again.

She heals the bear.

And without looking back, she gets up and leaves it be.

-

Lexa wakes up with a groan.

Her head is pounding, particularly on the right side. She tries to open her eyes, and when she does the world is all blurry, the colours mixing into swaying swirls. It takes a couple minutes, but eventually her vision seems to settle, done with its toying. Lexa makes a move to lift a hand up to her head, but she realises that she can’t. She looks down and then behind, learning that she’s tied up. She’s sitting on the ground, her arms tied behind a thick metal pole. Panic dances across her skin but she shakes it off. She takes the time to inspect the area around her.

She’s in a tent, the thin curved walls a dark green. The material looks thick and sturdy. She seems to be right in the middle, though a little to the back, and to the left of her is a desk. It’s metal and looks like you can fold it out or in. On top is a laptop, along with a bunch of smaller things like pencils, notepads, a coffee cup and… a gun.

She scrambles to push herself up to her feet. Her back slides up the pole as she moves so she’s standing.

The tent door is pulled open, and suddenly she finds someone walking in. The man, who looks to be in his late twenties, walked into the tent with a grin when he finds Lexa awake. He carefully zips up the tent flap.

“Well, it’s great to see you’re finally awake.” The man’s jaw is sharp, his face skirting around the edges of a square. His brown eyes gleam. “Was worried one of my men had hit you a little too hard.”

Lexa doesn’t answer him.

He doesn’t look deterred from Lexa’s silence, instead coming in further and pulling out a chair from the desk. He puts in front of Lexa, but it’s out of leg distance. He sits down.

“Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

“Who are you?” Lexa growled. The man smiled at her response.

“My name is Cage,” he lifted his hand as if for Lexa to shake it, drawing it back when Lexa just glares at him. His grin grew wide. “Cage Wallace.”

“Any reason for you tying me up, Cage Wallace?” she spat his name like acid. It doesn’t seem to bother him, as he just shrugged.

“Safety precautions, you _were_ seen with the target after all.”

Lexa’s throat goes dry. She tries to steady her breathing. “The target?”

“The blonde, the girl you were with,” his eyes taken on a dangerous glint. With a showman’s grin, he leans forward. “You do know what you were travelling with right?”

Lexa almost says her name, but some instinct in her shuts her mouth before she can. “She’s just a girl. A girl, might I add, who _you_ tried to kill. Last time I checked, that’s called murder.”

“Just a girl?” Cage laughed loudly, shaking his head. He ran a hand through his brown hair. “She is _far_ more than just a girl. She’s not even human.”

Lexa goes for an immediate retort, but his last words make her stumble. She frowned at him. She knows that Clarke had somehow healed her ankle, but that couldn’t mean that she wasn’t human. Lexa personally was just going with the idea she had super powers or something, some comic book hero come to life. Not that she reads comic books. Because she doesn’t, not at all.

Cage takes in Lexa’s expression with a raised brow. “You don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?” she said the words slow, each dripping with a deadly calm. But Cage doesn’t notice the obvious threat, the tension in them. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.

He doesn’t answer her question, instead leaning back in his chair. “The police had said that you were attacked by a panther. That it had grabbed you by the ankle.” His eyes flickered downwards. “I don’t see any marks.”

“The police?” she can’t help but ask, the confusion heavy in her voice. Cage just waved her off.

“That’s what they got from your friends anyway. You know, you should feel pretty lucky. They had quite the squadron hanging around this camp, looking for you.” Lexa’s heart stopped. She hadn’t seen any cops from before, when her and Clarke were peeking at the camp. Cage saw the question in her eyes. “Don’t worry, their deaths were quick. Painless really, so there’s no need to worry.”

The panic from before came creeping back, but a lot stronger. She fought to keep her voice steady. “You… you killed them?”

“There’s no need to sound so shocked. What I’m doing is for the sake of humanity, not just this country. That girl you were with is a danger to mankind.”

Lexa couldn’t help her scoff. “Seriously? If you believe that then you’re one of the stupidest men I know. And that’s saying something.”

“The thing that you were with needs to be put down.” His voice lost all of its previous casualness. “And you are going to help me.”

“Go to hell,” Lexa hissed. “I’d rather cut off my own arm than help you.”

He rose with a snarl, roughly grabbing the back of her head and pulling it back. He brought a pocketknife up to her throat. “You think I won’t hurt you, girl?” he breathed. Lexa didn’t give him the satisfaction of showing fear. He pressed the knife in gently, and despite herself Lexa flinched. “Cause I will. I’ve been hunting this one for years. And today, she dies. Whether you decide to live long enough to see that is up to you.”

Lexa didn’t say anything, but only because if she did she was afraid the blade would nick her skin. Her stared at her eyes a moment longer, and she tried with all her might to send the hate and malice through them. He stepped back, snatching the knife back to his side. Lexa let out the smallest breaths of reliefs, small enough that he didn’t see.

“You’re insane.” She muttered. Cage slipped the knife back into his pocket, looking up at her with a raised brow.

“Is that so?”

“What you’re doing is hunting a kid.” Lexa spat, Cage just shook his head. “The only thing she is is scared. She’s not this, inhumane thing you’ve made her to be. There’s only one thing that’s not human here, and that’s you. You and your deluded quest to murder a child.”

Cage is quiet, dangerously so, and only once Lexa has finished her speech does he raise his head. He locked eyes with her. “Do you believe in God?”

“What?” Lexa frowned, unable not too. Cage took a step closer.

“Do you believe in God?” he repeated, the words slightly louder than before.

She’s silent for a while before answering. “No.”

“Well, that’s something we have in common. So, how about this. Do you believe in angels?”

“Are you high or something?”

“Answer the question.” He lifted the knife halfway out of his pocket, a warning. Lexa eyes glanced between it and him.

“No.”

“You will. And you’ll also learn that they aren’t this holy being that the books makes them out to be.” His eyes grew cold and harsh, but they couldn’t compare to Lexa’s own. Lexa just scoffed at him again.

“The hell are you going on about?”

He took a step closer, but he let the knife fall back into his pocket. “That’s what she is. Well, that’s what her father was.”

Lexa stared at him, and when his face remained still, she laughed. It was uneasy and empty, the sound of it off and uncomfortable. She shook her head, a few lingering chuckles escaping her. Cage’s face remained serious.

“You’re serious?” Lexa said, and Cage just nodded. “You’re insane,” Lexa scoffed.

“I’m not. She has angel blood in her veins, something no human should ever have. Halfbloods shouldn’t exist. It sets the very balance of the nature of things off, angels and humans are never meant to intertwine.”

Lexa’s blood began to grow cold. His words were serious, his eyes even more so. She stopped laughing, the amusement draining from her face.

“You’re lying.”

He took a step back, a smile tugging at his lips. “Far from. This is the truth. The thing that you were with, the thing that,” he glanced at her ankle. “That healed you, should never have existed. And it’s my job to make sure it doesn’t. So, I’m going to give you a choice.” He backed away from her, Lexa’s eyes only able to follow as he moved over to the desk. “You can either help me, or,” he picked the gun off the table, turning so he was again facing her. He flicked the safety off. “You can join where your friend is about to be.”

Lexa doesn’t get afraid easily. But fear, pure cold fear coiled in her gut like a snake. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and despite the urge to agree, to just let him kill this stranger who she barely knew in a trade for her own life, she couldn’t do it. She tried to convince herself, tell herself that the better option was to just take his deal so she could live. And though she tried, she immediately failed, as her heart growled its defiance at such an idea. So Lexa just stared at him, and she prayed that even if she was about to die, that Clarke would get far enough away. And she’d be safe.

Slowly, without breathing, Lexa shook her head.

Cage sighed.

“Well. I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this but,” he kicked the chair out the way, lifting the gun till it lightly pressed into Lexa’s forehead. The metal was cool, and the feel of it pressing it into her skin forced her eyes shut. She tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill, but still a few escaped. “It seems you’ve made your choice.”

“Just get it over with.” Lexa whispered. Her voice shook so much it was a wonder Cage even made out the words. She opened her eyes again, the green shining with unshed tears. “I’m not hurting her.” She promised. Cage gave her a sad smile, mostly for himself, then he just shrugged his arms.

“I’ll find her. That is something that I can promise you.”

Lexa used to not be that afraid of death. It wasn’t that she wanted it, but the thought it didn’t scare her like it should. The thought of it just seemed like that, a thought, it wasn’t necessarily bad, nor was it good, it was just there. The thought of it was almost comforting.

But not anymore.

Clarke had changed that. Lexa wants to damn her for it, but she can’t. In the two days that she had known her, somehow, some fucking how everything had changed. Every cell in her body had burned in a new light the moment their skin had touched, and the sight of her eyes had given her own a new reason to see. A new reason to breathe, to try, to live.

Caged cocked the gun.

Lexa could believe Clarke to be an angel, or at least part of one like Cage says she is. Someone like her, someone as _good_ as her; it’s not really a surprise. When Lexa had first seen Clarke, when she had just killed that panther and the blonde was leaning over her, Lexa thought she was seeing an angel. With a hair that seemed to glow, she had thought there was no way someone like that could be human. She didn’t want to believe it, the logic side of her brain shoving the thoughts like those away. But they still came running back.

Was it so bad that she was right?

Lexa closed her eyes.

Cage readied his finger.

“You won’t feel a thing.” He muttered. Lexa didn’t reply or move; she just waited. Cage drew in a last steadying breath, and as he finger began to bend to pull the trigger, he heard a roar.

And it was so intense Cage dropped the gun.

The roar was followed by a multitude of shouts, the voices filled with panic. Cage threw a look to Lexa, half debating on picking up the gun and finishing the job. He lingered a moment longer, before leaning down and snatching the gun off the ground. He ran out the tent.

Cage had thrown the tent flap so hard that it fallen on the top of it, and now was left open. It meant that Lexa could see out of it, and through it, through that gap she could so very see Clarke standing at the edge of the clearing. She was on top of an incline, and her eyes were burning so brightly Lexa could have sworn they were glowing. At her feet, was a pack of wolves, including a healed Aden. Lexa didn’t know whether her eyes were betraying her but just to right of Clarke was also a bear, its thunderous roars singing through and singeing the air.

But what caught Lexa’s attention wasn’t any of those things.

It wasn’t that fact there seemed to be web-like white lines trailing up Clarke’s skin, and the way they almost seemed to glow like her eyes.

It wasn’t any of that that caught her attention and sucked every ounce of air from her lungs.

It was the fact that Clarke had wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter may be embarrassingly small compared to this one so i ask that you just go with it. i hope this wasn't too boring to read and you actually enjoyed it, next chapter will be lexas actual rescue and a little more on clarkes backstory. (more backstory? seriously? i know just let me live okay)  
> thanks for reading and giving this story a chance!!  
> (there will be a hella lot more clexa next chap pinkie promise)
> 
> *gandalf voice* You! shall not! Translate!  
> (get it? no? ill let myself out)
> 
> Chit yu dula - What are you doing?  
> Ai hod yu in skaiprisa - I love you sky princess  
> Strikon, yu sou klir - Little one, you are safe  
> Yu souda rid op - You must sleep  
> Ai hod yu in Clarke - I love you Clarke  
> Ai hod you in seintaim - I love you too


	4. Then You'd Know What Love Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you know this whole story was meant to be one chapter at the start? one. chapter. yeah. look how fucking great that turned out
> 
> there are genuine tears in my eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so before you give me shit for the sheer fucking monster length of this chapter let me just tell you that im running on 3 hours of sleep and can barely lift my hand so just let me live alright im too lazy to cut it in half so fuck it i've fallen down the rabbit hole and im dragging you all down with me fuck. IT.  
> (if you want that Full Immersion listen to Flume - Fantastic Ft. Dave Glass Animals) (ive been listening to it not-stop for 4 days and im p sure my ears are bleeding)  
> (also theres gonna be an ungodly amount of typos because this thing is goddamn huge and i haven't been able to properly scope it out, so if typos are something that really bug you, kindly point them out and ill change them up for you)
> 
> to Suspendedinaction: i don't know what country you live in so I'm hoping this uploaded in time for your birthday? but anyway happy birthday and i wish you a good one! I hope you enjoy the chapter!!

She grew her wings when she was twelve.

It’s painful. God, it was _painful_. It had hit her unexpectedly, or at least, it felt like it was unexpected. There were signs actually. How could there not be? Her body was quite literally changing it’s own structure and biology, it’d be impossible not to. But no one ever told her. No one was there to say that those weird pains in your back aren’t from slouching, that the soreness that never quite never went away for a day wasn’t because you slept weird, that when you threw up three times just that morning it wasn’t because you had eaten something dodgy that evening.

But all because the bones that had been small and ignored were actually preparing to finally grow, and break through the skin.

It happened on her birthday, funnily enough. Clarke was grouchy. Her back was aching, her stomach kept tumbling and she felt like she was boiling but also freezing at the exact same time; it wasn’t being a very good birthday. She was sitting at the mouth of the cave, hanging just behind the line of shadow and light. The sun was dipping into its third quarter, three o’clock if she could read time, when it hit. Nethon was lounging next to her, offering some much needed company and reassurance for the blonde.

It hit all at once like a dam breaking.

All that pressure, all those minuscule movements stop. Instead, they grow fast. _Very_ fast.

She lurched forward.

Nethon jumped up to his paws, blinking away the tiredness from napping. Clarke had been expecting to throw up; instead it’s pain that comes. It felt like a living thing was under her very skin, crawling in the flesh in her back. Her breathing was the first to go out of control, her chest rising and stuttering like a faulty engine. Her jaw was clenched so hard it was a wonder her teeth didn’t break. Nethon was barking, she could hear it as a different ringing, the sounds panicked and distressed. His feet couldn’t stop moving around his obviously hurting packmate, his muzzle constantly bumping into Clarke like he could push the pain out as if it were a physical thing.

The pain, for a moment, then suddenly paused.

Clarke had screwed her eyes shut, but now, hesitantly, they open. It took her a moment, but she realised she was sweating. A lot. Her hair was matted against the sides of her head, tears that hadn’t been noticed mixing with the beads of sweat. She blinked. Once, then twice.

Her back was buzzing.

She tried to contain her breathing for a bit, and she did, though her lungs stubbornly refused to cooperate for as long as they could hold off. She had been lying forward, her shaking arms the only thing keeping her off the ground. Carefully, she pulled herself up. Nethon rushed for her, and with a breathy chuckle she wrapped her arms around him, holding him in a way she had been since she was five.

“ _Ai kei_ , _ai kei,_ ” Clarke whispered. Nethon whined in response.

‘ _Chit kom au?_ ’ Nethon asked, pulling out of the hug. His yellow eyes flicked nervously over her form.

Clarke shook her head, forcing a smile. “ _En’s ku_ ,” Nethon didn’t buy her reassurance, instead doing the best scowl a wolf could do. He padded a few steps away, eyes trailing over the cave in an attempt to see if he could find whatever was the source of Clarke’s pain. He decided that if he ever found them they wouldn’t be breathing by sunrise.

Clarke hobbled up to two feet, her limbs surprisingly weak. Her footing only lasted for a few precious seconds before her knees buckled from under her, her arm jerking out to the wall for support. She was quick enough that she stayed upright. She took a deep breath, as if that could bring her strength, and lifted her head. Her eyes trailed over the scene of unending forests before her. A smile curved onto her lips, but it was ripped off as quickly as it had come.

She had a few seconds of peace before the agony came back.

And this time it was worse.

She groaned, dropping to ground. Her arms trembled violently from trying to keep herself up. Like fire was poured over her back Clarke hastily reached for her shirt, throwing it off as fast as she could. She forced her head up, painfully, her sight not able to find Nethon anymore. Panic rose her chest. He was gone. She whimpered, but not in fear. Her heart was beating so hard she was sure it was going to break out of her ribcage. She couldn’t see, her eyes were shut anyway, but on her exposed back the flesh rippled. Bones pushed against its confines, the skin stretching and rising, deflating as the pressure from within rose and fell. It was agony. Every bone that pushed and moved would spark a new wave of pain, and for a moment it was all so intense she couldn’t even remember her own name.

Then it paused.

The pain suddenly stopped, but Clarke knew this time it was different. This was the drumroll, the second, that heartbeat before it all. That glimpse of a breath where time bends, grinning in anticipation the moment just after the axe is released, and all the power is stripped away from you because all you can do is watch it fall.

The axe fell.

And a bone broke through skin.

For angels, gaining their wings is painless. They’re already dead; the addition of wings can be done as they linger between life and death, until finally they’re dragged back to earth but placed a slightly different body. That body already has wings, all the soul has to do is adjust. Humans don’t have wings. They don’t have the structure needed for it. They just don’t have them, they’re human.

But then there’s the problem of halfbloods.

Angels and humans are never meant to intervene. Angels are dead, human’s are not; never should their paths intertwine. Only death can touch death, and only life and touch life. It’s a simple rule. An old standing rule that’s been around since reality first blinked itself awake.

But a rule will always get broken.

Halfbloods, or Angel-bloods, are somewhere in the middle. When Clarke was born, a part of that structure for wings was formed, but it hid under the skin, too small and weak to ever amount to what it should be. For the first part of her life, it will stay like that. She will, for most part, appear completely human. Except then they’ll come a day, typically around puberty, where an invisible button is pushed and the very bones themselves grow and force their way of their caged confines.

When a human hits puberty they get their period.

Angel-bloods get wings.

Clarke screamed. Another bone jutted out from her back, the usual whiteness of the bone streaked in red. Blood dripped down from the wounds in her back, dropping quietly onto the stone floor. At first it was slow, but the more they came out the quicker it became, the bones pushing harder and faster. It was two separate bones, one for each wing, and with a jerk and a sickening squelch they’d stretch out in bursts, each one eventually spreading out, pointed like an accusing finger. When Clarke heard the muffled sounds of barking and a rush of padded feet, the bones finally stopped. Her eyes fluttered open, spotting the trembling forms of Sasha, Nethon and Sheila. A few of the pups, now young adults, hung cautiously behind them.

Then the feathers grew.

The bones themselves are mostly on the human side, growing like a human would. But the feathers, those are different. It’s not magic, but it’s something similar, something that comes from the ability of reviving souls for angels to even exist. The process hurt, but only a fraction of the agony from before. The bare bones, naked like a skeleton, suddenly became warm. Hard muscle began to form, starting from the bloody base of Clarke’s back, wrapping and winding around the bones carefully. Clarke had to bite her cheek to stop herself from screaming again. The bone was incredibly sensitive, and every inch that the flesh gained while it was satisfying, it was also agonising. The feathers began spreading the moment there was enough muscle to hold onto.

The pack watched the sight with wide eyes.

Blood was pooling on the ground, streaks of it cascading down her back. The feathers were quickest to form, and the most beautiful, starting from the top and morphing in layers until it curved into the tip.

Clarke blinked.

Once, then twice.

The pain was completely gone.

-

Her wings stayed with her for the entire day.

It was partly because she was fascinated with them, after they stopped hurting, but also partly because she didn’t know that they could be hidden. She wouldn’t know for a couple more days. But in that first day of having them, in those moments following the agony of growing them, well, Clarke was surprised to say the least.

It felt weird. Like she had four arms. When she had gotten herself up on shaky feet, Nethon was the first to cautiously approach her; it took Clarke a few seconds to adjust to the additional presence. But once she did, once the shock passed over, Clarke smiled. Her wings twitched with her. She strained her neck, trying to look at her back, but all it ended up in was her clumsily twirling in a circle like a dog trying to catch its tail. She could see some of the feathers, the thick muscle of the wings. They looked soft. Fluffy. She stopped twirling, giving up on trying to see something that she couldn’t.

Her hand shook as she reached behind her. It wasn’t that she was afraid, except she was a little. She couldn’t help it. Perhaps it was because she was excited, the buzzing energy racing along her skin certainly proved that, perhaps it was anxiety, nervousness, why had she even grown these things in the first place? Was it a bad thing, a danger? It could be that, but it really felt like it wasn’t.

Because if it was so bad then why did she feel so suddenly good?

Nethon crept carefully behind her, his yellow eyes wide as he fully took in what was before him. The biggest wings he had ever seen. They were like a crow’s, but white and humongous, stretching from head to toe of Clarke’s form. The top actually peaked just a bit above. When he was done circling her, Nethon took a few slow paces forward. Hesitantly, he nudged Clarke’s wings with his nose. Clarke jumped, obviously startled, but Nethon and the other wolves jumped back as well as suddenly Clarke’s wings, which had been previously folded in on themselves, had now suddenly spread.

Nethon stared at her, and if he were human he’d probably have a dropped jaw. Clarke, her heart finally calming down, smiled weakly.

“ _Weda_ huh _?_ ”

Nethon almost grinned. ‘ _Krei.’_

Clarke sucked in a sharp breath, tearing her sight off Nethon. She stared out into the mouth of the cage, of the unending folding lands of forest out before her. In particular, her eyes drifted up, spotting a dove drifting through the sky. She felt her heart twinge. She took a few paces forward, her balance way off for the first few steps. Her arm jerked out to the wall for the support, Clarke having not taken into the account the _weight_ of her wings with her. Nethon was already on her; as if he could catch her if she fell. She didn’t, they her legs swayed like they would.

She screwed her eyes shut. _Adjust,_ she willed herself, _just adjust._

Clarke leaned forward, her hand still curling desperately into stone wall for any type of support. This time she was expecting it, the sudden heaviness that pushed forward with her. Her feet slipped.

But she didn’t fall.

Nethon watched her movements like the worried father he was.

‘ _Kefa_ ,’ he warned, paws clicking against the floor as he circled around her. ‘ _Teik em lagen._ ’

Clarke rolled her eyes, some human part her never letting the habit go. “ _Nou get yu daun, ai ku.’_

If a wolf could scowl, he did his best at it.

Clarke shuffled against the wall. Though each step was rocky, each one was steadily becoming smoother. When she ran out of cave wall, the sun bleeding onto her face and cradling her cheeks, she put her foot forward without any additional support but her own. Her lungs squeezed, too afraid to breathe. Her foot rose, and it fell. But she didn’t.

Clarke smiled.

She took more steps, slow, walking around the den. Nethon was quite literally on her heels as she did this, huffing and whining through the entire ordeal. At one point, Clarke got a little too confident, and tried running. Straight out the cave. It was quite surprising in that she didn’t actually fall right away, as like she always did her ability to pick up things was fast. It wasn’t the running that caused her to roll down the hill, but rather her own feet. She _had_ adjusted to the weight of her wings.

She hadn’t adjusted to the wings in their entirety though. Clarke sprinted forward, and just as her feet found grass, they also found feathers, and she tripped. She would have been fine, but she’d stumbled just as the ground dipped. Her hands may have burst out to catch her fall, but gravity was already wrapping its arms around her waist and dragging her down.

She’d fallen down the hill loads of times. Many on purpose, many not. Most of the falling incidents happened in the early hours of morning, the sun too lazy to grace the sky. Sleep would still be heavy in Clarke’s head as she would stagger out, her bladder so full it was a wonder it didn’t explode. When you’re still blinking yourself awake and you’re only mission is to find somewhere to relieve yourself; hills are something of her worst enemy.

But falling down the hill now was worse than the other times.

Her wings were still sensitive, the new muscles still faintly ached, and smashing them repeatedly into the ground was like rolling over scalding hot coals. Each smack against the ground resulted in a grunt, and by the time it was finally over Clarke had to blink the tears out of her eyes. It helped that the moment she was on flat earth Nethon was as well, bolting down the hill the second Clarke had gone rolling. The black wolf scrambled over her, licking her tears and nudging her with his muzzle, the panic and now, relief, clear in his yellow eyes.

Clarke groaned loudly, trying to push herself up. Nethon ducked his head under her belly when he realised what she was doing, pushing up with her. She moved so she was sitting on her knees. Wincing, she checked over herself, thin scrapes and bruises littering her arms and legs. Her head ached as well, but not as much as her wings.

Oh her _wings_.

They hurt her so bad she curled into a ball.

More of the pack came running at the sounds of her distress. Sasha was suddenly by her side, Sheila and one of the pups, now a young adult, named Vora, rubbing against her side. Clarke had raised the pups, spending almost as much time with them as Sheila, and they had taken to see Clarke as more a mother than a sister. When the rest of the pups kept crowding in, Nethon snapped with a snarl, and reluctantly they scampered with tails tucked between their legs and their heads constantly glancing back.

It was only her, Nethon, and Sasha now.

The pain was wavering thankfully, the intensity dying down. Clarke was still curled into herself, her wings folded in as tightly as they could go. Despite their size they looked small, vulnerable, like this. But finally, _finally_ , it went away.

Clarke lifted her head meekly, finding the eyes of Nethon staring right at her not centimeters away. He was lying down in front of her, head on his paws. At seeing Clarke moving his head popped up like a meerkat.

He didn’t say anything, and neither did Clarke.

She adjusted so she was sitting, then, using a tree a support, standing. She let her fingers thread through the ruff of Nethon’s black fur.

And Clarke let her wings spread.

They spread out slowly, carefully, and it felt surreal to do so. It was like trying to wiggle a single toe, trying to single out the muscle somehow and moving it without the others. It was hard, but Clarke found it. She made her wings spread, and then she made them fold in. Still slowly, still carefully. Sasha brushed against her side.

‘ _Yu chek bilaik skaiglaida._ ’ Sasha commented. Then, slyly, ‘ _taim skaiglaida don branwoda.’_

Clarke threw Sasha a glare, which the wolf caught with sparkling eyes. “Jerk.” Clarke muttered.

There were some words in English that she remembered more than others.

The rest of the day was spent by Clarke stubbornly trying to get the hang of her wings. Nethon followed her the entire time, worrying and fussing over her while Sasha, the closest thing to a sister that Clarke had, tried to trip her up and race her, just so she could win and tease Clarke when the blonde would instantly demand for a rematch. Nethon having to intervene on the third time because Clarke was _seriously_ going to injure herself if Sasha kept being an asshole and taunting her.

Nethon had thought his pups had grown up.

Clearly they had not.

While the races with Sasha were mostly for the wolf’s benefit, they were good for Clarke’s too. Clarke was always good at running, at dodging rogue branches and rocks like a second sense, but her wings had hindered her somewhat, throwing her off. Having to push herself while at the same time sidestep potholes and keep up with Sasha, forced her to adjust to the wings presence. She may have fallen over more times than she can count, but she’d fall less times each run.

When the sky was bleeding and the air began to cool, they all made their way back to the den. Sasha, of course, arrived first. Mostly out of spite. By the time Clarke had made it in and Sasha was there grinning at her, Clarke playfully slapped the back of her head, just dodging a retaliating dive at her heels.

Nethon followed in after them shaking his head.

The pack was lied in the far end of the den, all waiting by a deer that they had hunted while Nethon, Clarke and Sasha were out. They were waiting for their alpha, and when Nethon came up and took the first bite the rest dug in. Clarke could actually eat raw meat, not excessively, and she supposed years of eating it raw constantly it had helped in strengthening her stomach anyway. Clarke may have been part angel, but with that it meant that she was technically half… dead. Sort of. It was an interesting physiological dilemma. Angels weren’t technically ‘alive’. Though their heart did beat and their lungs wheezed, they were still dead. Clarke could eat meat without problem, because, really, as long it was in some way edible her body could easily take it.

With everyone’s belly full the pack settled in for the night, curling around each other for warmth. Normally, Clarke would sleep between Nethon and Sasha, but now she realised that she had to somehow fit in her wings as well as herself. It was strange to say at the least. When after over five minutes of trying to shuffle and fit in between them Clarke gave up with a huff, treading over to a free space. She had to go right at the front, and in the back of her head all she could think was that if something decided to come poking around the cave she would be the first one they’d see, the first one they’d go for.

But she was tired. So she shoved the thought way.

Now with enough space, Clarke carefully lied down on the stone floor. It was colder at the front, nothing, or more no one, to stop the breeze from sweeping into the cave and brushing against her. But then Clarke realised something.

_She had wings._

She could control her wings mostly by now, and with some hesitance she let one of them spread, then she let it fall over her like a shield. She was lying on her side, and the feathers were just far enough from tickling her nose. Clarke had closed her eyes instinctually, but now she opened them. One, then both. She could see her feathers finally. Clarke smiled in the dark.

She lifted a small hand; let her fingers trail over feathers in front of her. They were even softer than she thought and she felt a warmth bloom in her chest. Hers. These wings were hers. But for some reason they also reminded her of something else, some _one_ else. Someone from her past. She narrowed her eyes, as if that would give her the answer. She tried to chase after it, whatever her brain was trying to tell her, but her hands never quite grasped it, and, instead, ignoring the sudden sense of loneliness from not having Nethon or Sasha next to her, Clarke fell asleep.

When she wakes up she finds the two wolves by her side anyway.

-

(~) Trigedasleng in italics from this point on

On the fourth day she learns that her wings can go back in.

For four days, they stayed with her. For three nights did Clarke have to sleep right at the edge of the pack, instead of the centre, Sasha and Nethon always coming up and nuzzling by her side anyway. It made Clarke unbelievably happy when they did that. Not that she’d say so. She was slowly adjusting to the wings, getting used to their presence, their weight, they way if it was windy enough she could lean forward and let her wings spread, let the air push her back and hold her. She couldn’t explain why she did it, just that it made her heart soar.

While she did do her best to adapt to her new body part, she didn’t do the most obvious thing. She didn’t try to fly. The thought had crossed her mind, more than once, like a persistent itch that never quite went away. _Do it,_ her mind would whisper, _just do it._ And every time she’d do the same thing. Shake her head, steel her gaze. Not yet, those were the words she repeated to herself. Not yet. Honestly, it was because she was slightly afraid. Flying seemed… dangerous to say the least. But at the same time it didn’t, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

Her human and angel side fought against each other mercilessly. It gave her headaches and never-ending conflicting thoughts.

_Jump! Just fly!_

_Stay back; learn how to control them first._

_The wind could hold you, just try. Just jump._

_Why aren’t you questioning this? Where did they come from, why?_

It was like there were two people inside of her head, people who did nothing but argue all day. The problem was she understood both sides, and it left her confused. Eventually though, she caved. She gave in. It wasn’t exactly a surprise, if anything it was more of a surprise that it had taken so long. On the fourth day, when Clarke awoke, she stood up and crept over to the mouth of the cave. She took those few steps that put her out onto the grass, the small landing before the earth dipped. Her eyes blinked in the early morning light. Yellow peaked over the horizon, streaks of blue shooting through the sky like lightening bolts, fighting against the lingering shades of night. Eventually the last few flickering reminders of the dark were gone, the usual sky blue melding and taking its place.

Something nudged her leg, and Clarke looked down with a surprised smile to find it was one of the pups, she really needs to stop thinking of them as pups, Vora. Her fur was brown, though it bordered on blonde. The young wolf stared up at her, her sight drifting over to her wings. She glanced out to the sky, then back to Clarke.

The wolf didn’t need to say anything. Clarke knew what she was asking.

_Why are you waiting?_

Clarke took in a shuddering breath. Sunrises normally relaxed her, but now there were waves of anxiety burrowing under her skin like worms. Flying. It seemed simple enough, easy enough. She had the wings; all she had to do was move them right? Clarke glanced behind her, at the sleeping forms of Nethon and his mate. At Sasha who was sprawled out next to him. There was a smile that played on her lips without her knowing, like it always did when she looked onto her family. Her pack.

Clarke brought her gaze to the front.

Okay.

She could do this.

Calm, that’s what she had to be. Her anxiety, apparently, didn’t get the memo, still turning her stomach and burning her skin. Vora must have sensed it, because she nudged a little closer, let her head bump against Clarke’s hand. She let her fingers thread through her fur gratefully. The knot in her chest loosened. Clarke took a step forward, her hand still gripped tightly to Vora’s fur. Right now she was her anchor. The reminder that she was safe, with souls that she trusted, that she loved.

“ _Stay calm,”_ Clarke mumbled. She closed her eyes. Her wings opened up. “ _Just stay calm._ ”

She took a few more steps, right till she reached the very beginning of the hill. She teetered near the edge, still holding onto Vora. Her heart was thudding relentlessly now. As if its sole purpose was to break out of its bone caged confines. Her toes wiggled in the grass. Slowly, Clarke opened eyes, and perhaps fate was feeling generous for once, because Clarke soon was smiling. Right there, gliding in the sky without a care in the world, was a bird. A dove. Its wings were white like Clarke’s. She couldn’t help but chuckle, just a little bit. And maybe the dove had heard her, because the bird glanced behind it, the sun making the edges of its wings glow.

Clarke thought it smiled at her. If birds could smile.

She was surprised to hear a foreign voice in her head.

‘ _Come,_ ’ the bird said, its voice oddly melodic. ‘ _The wind is favourable this morning.’_ When Clarke didn’t move, the dove turned around, gliding over to her. It floated over, throwing a cautious glance at the wolf by her feet. Clarke tugged Vora back, a signal for her to stay, to just watch. Thankfully Vora was used to being ordered around by Clarke, so she easily stepped back. That didn’t mean she didn’t eye the bird hungrily though. It seemed like the bird was more interested in Clarke than the wolf, and it fluttered down to the ground, Clarke crouching down with it. The bird cocked its head at her.

Clarke failed to keep the longing out of her voice. “ _How do you do that?”_

_‘Do what?’_

“ _Fly,”_ Clarke said, and she felt the bird’s curiosity peak. It padded over to her, only a little cautious, and it adjusted itself so it was standing next to Clarke. Her blue eyes watched it with her own curiosity. The dove shook its feathers, now adjacent to Clarke. Then, it spread out its wings.

It turned to her expectantly, narrowing its eyes when Clarke was just staring at it. ‘ _Copy,_ ’ it urged, bobbing its head. Clarke blinked. But she quickly regained herself.

She stood up, so much larger than the small bird. Still, she copied it, taking note of the shape and how its wings bent a little differently. She adjusted her own so they looked like its. The dove looked her up and down, and when it was satisfied it swiveled back to the front.

‘ _It’s easier to fly when you have a path to run. Harder to just fly on the spot. Need to move._ ’ To prove this it shuffled back a bit, then burst forward. Its feet briefly flurried across the ground, and just as its wings shot out and bent in the obvious preparation for take off; it stopped. It padded back to Clarke’s side. ‘ _Lift your wings as high as you can,’_ the dove advised. ‘ _Then bring down, make sure you feel the wind. The wind is what you will follow, what you will trust and learn. Try now. No run, just flap.’_

Clarke at first hesitated, but she managed to push past it. She was actually very grateful for her sudden friend. Her anxiety about flying was fading now. Clarke focused on her wings, on how she needed to move them. Really it was just like using her arms, if she had grown an extra pair, and following the bird’s words she lifted her wings, let them rise in the air, before she brought them down. Turns out she was stronger than she had expected. Briefly she felt the rush of air, any leaves by her feet being blown away. Vora was staring with wide eyes, clearly excited, and the dove was now in the air. It had jumped the second Clarke had brought her wings down.

The dove hovered in the air. Its eyes shone. ‘ _Very good.’_

“ _Is that how?”_ Clarke asked excited, unable not to. Her heart was beating fast again, not in anxiety, but in pure unbridled joy. It was that one movement, that one flap; that had flicked a switch. Because now with Clarke there was no hesitance, there was no urge for restraint and caution. Now she just wanted to do what wings were built for. Now her blood roared in her ears and her pulse raced in time with her thoughts.

_Why had she waited?_

‘ _Follow and use the wind,’_ the dove said. ‘ _Push hard to go up, lean forward to go down. Higher isn’t always the best.’_ The bird fluttered back down to the ground, standing proudly on its two legs. It stood right in front of Clarke. For the bird’s sake, Clarke crouched down. The dove tilted its head at her. ‘ _Good luck stranger. Be slow. To fail is to learn.’_

Then the dove shook its feathers, and took off like it was never there. Clarke watched its retreating figure carefully, took note of its movements, the breaths between each beat of its wings, how for few a moments it actually stopped flapping its wings entirely, but just let them stretch, the bird gliding like there were invisible hooks in the air that held it up.

A part of her knew that the dove was flying like that deliberately, throwing in a turn and even a dive, where it pushed its wings harder so it went up, and up, and up, only to come crashing down. And just when she thought it was going to smash into the ground its wings shot out and the air came rushing to push it back up. Really she was grateful. When the dove was done with its little show, it actually came back surprisingly. It may have said goodbye, but Clarke could sense its own curiosity not quite going away, now a blend of anticipation and hope swirling in its tiny belly. It came back to land by Clarke, but this time in front of her, making sure that Clarke was watching as it slowed its speed by flapping its wings in reverse. Back on the ground, it looked up to her. Expectant. Waiting.

Clarke forced a shaky breath. Okay. She could do this.

She could.

She will.

Clarke stepped back. One foot, then another. Going right back until warm stone brushed against her feet. She adjusted her gaze to the skyline, to the sun that poked just above the trees. She wanted to be there. She felt it in her gut. It was a longing that, when she thought about it, had always been present. Because she recongised this feeling, now recongised the urge, the want. It was like her body, her mind had been pressing for this moment the second she was born, but it didn’t have the parts it needed, didn’t understand enough to get the message fully across. Clarke understood now though. She readied her feet. Crouched her knees. Vora was off to the side now, eagerly waiting, shuffling from paw to paw. She reminded her of Sasha when she was young.

‘ _Come on!’_ Vora exclaimed. ‘ _Do it! Fly!’_

Clarke looked over to her to grin, but instead her eyes found Nethon, who had just woken up. Their sights locked, him somehow already knowing exactly what she was going to. His eyes widened, scrambling up to his feet. He sprinted for her but the moment he was moving Clarke was moving too. “ _Don’t blame Vora!”_ Clarke yelled, throwing her head back.

‘ _Don’t you dare do it Clarke!’_ Nethon growled, but it was too late. Because Clarke had run out of flat land. And, holding her breath, she let her wings spread.

And she pushed.

She channeled as much power into the sweep as she could, and it was so much so that briefly her feet were off the ground. Before they could touch the grass again she pushed once more, and she went a bit higher. So she pushed again, and again, and again until…

Clarke grinned so widely her cheeks hurt. Then, a conspiratorial whisper in her ear with that familiar melodic voice.

_‘You’re flying.’_

She was. She didn’t quite believe it at first, but the ground was a growing distance between her feet. The wind, so much stronger up here, whipped against her face, her hair blowing out and dancing without restraint. She kept pushing up, right until she saw the dove, its dark eyes sparkling. Clarke laughed. Loud and free, her eyes frantically looking over the earth below her and trying to drink in as much as possible. It was exhilarating; like a thousand times better then when she went on runs. Going on runs and hunts would set this fire off in her chest, but now, compared to this?

It was like comparing a spark to a bushfire.

To say that this was the best she had ever felt in her life would be an understatement. She could feel the strain in her wings, having never been used before, and while flying was just so, _so_ incredible and breathtaking – she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold herself much longer. The dove soared with her, doing loops and turns, gliding under her belly only to then come right up above her head, the moment Clarke lifting her eyes to find it the bird squawking and retreating back to her side. She couldn’t stop smiling, but once she got control of her mind again she reluctantly pulled herself back in.

Looking down she realised the ground was further below her than she thought. She threw her head back, locking eyes with the dove. “ _How do you get back to the ground?_ ” Clarke yelled, having to when the wind drowned out most of the sound. Thankfully she also thought the words at the same time, so really she didn’t need to actually say anything. It just felt weird not to speak with her mouth and just her head.

 _‘Need to slow down, get closer to ground._ ’ The dove explained, drifting a little closer to her. Clarke suddenly took notice of how truly beautiful the bird looked so up high, so close and bathed in sunlight.

Clarke frowned in the skies. _“How do I slow down?_ ”

‘ _Stop flapping,_ ’ the dove went on. _‘Adjust wing so wind catches, draft slows you down._ ’ The dove hovered for a few moments, clearly mulling something over, before turning its head back in Clarke’s direction. ‘ _Copy.’_ It finally said.

The joy of flying was starting to give way to the fear of crashing, so Clarke eagerly nodded her head. Clarke had to remind herself that only her pack really knew what that meant, as it was more a human thing. “ _Okay._ ” She answered out loud. The dove, if it could, smiled.

Was more a softness in the eyes.

It faced back to the front, glancing downwards. The ground was mostly a sea of trees, water being replaced with glittering leaves and thick oak branches, stubbornly poking out of the green if it could. Except, there actually was some real water. The river, just up there, and it looked quite deep. The dove briefly looked between the river and Clarke. Then it pushed forward, a few metres ahead of the flying girl.

‘ _Copy. Aim for clear land by river,_ ’ Clarke followed where its head was pointing, spotting where it was urging for her to go. ‘ _If panic, go for water. River is deep here.’_

“ _How do you know?_ ’ Clarke questioned uneasily. It didn’t look deep from here. If anything it looked shallow – and potentially bone crushing.

The dove squawked as if it was a laugh. ‘ _Experience.’_ It simply said.

It only calmed a little of Clarke’s sudden nerves.

With the talking done, the dove stopped flapping, letting its wings stretch out. Clarke mimicked, only panicking a little at the feeling of not manually holding herself up. The dove must have sensed her unease because it was whispering in her ear not a moment later, like a grandma that had noticed the kid that was standing in the corner from others.

‘ _The wind is stronger than you think,’_ the dove comforted. Its voice was oddly soft and warm. ‘ _It can hold you._ ’

Clarke doubted that, but she forced herself to listen to the bird’s words. Her shoulders lost some of their anxious tension, the perpetual frown in her brow lessoning. She offered the dove a thankful smile. The creature may have just been a bird, but it knew what the show of teeth meant. Its attention fell back to the front. Its wing bent a little, dipping downward, and Clarke again copied its movements.

She felt her body, instead of going forward, diving back to the earth. Thankfully it wasn’t dead fast, but it was faster than her previous speed. The trees that had been previously shrinking were now growing. Details started coming back to her. The smell of air up above was crisper; different in a way she couldn’t quite explain, and the closer they headed back to the ground the more other scents started to mix in. The smell of the leaves, the damp earth by the river, the coolness of the water contending with the warmth of the sun sinking into the grass. The blurs of colours began separating; falling into their own respected places.

They were getting dangerously close to the ground now.

The angle of the dove’s wing changed, and Clarke hastily moved to echo it. She slowed down a little, the pair following the path of the river. The wind rushed harder at her. Her hair tangled behind her furiously in the air like it was trying to hold on to the clouds but kept slipping. She was trying not to panic, she was, but the world was moving to fast at her sides. She could barely keep up. Her wings were too tense with her fear, and with just a hundred metres above the ground, the wind suddenly grew too strong.

The dove saw them cave just a second before Clarke did.

‘ _Aim for the river!’_ it screeched, Clarke just catching its words before finally the wind won, and instead of gliding towards the ground; she flailed. It was like being caught under a river current but in the air, the wind the waves that tugged and pulled at her, rolling her body like a doll as Clarke desperately fought to regain her balance, to spread her wings.

But the wind cackled and dragged her down grinning before she could.

She was falling now, and though it hurt to open her eyes she did. The moment they were it stung, but she fought past it with gritted teeth, trying to see pass the blur. Apparently the world was feeling a tug of guilt, because she could. But she wasn’t heading towards the water.

She was heading towards the ground.

Clarke was close though; close enough, she told herself. Rallying her strength then and shoving aside her panic was one of the hardest things she had ever done, but she managed to do it anyway. Instead of tumbling, she maneuvered her body so it was straight, like a branch. The wind snarled at her, angrily trying to grab her limbs and pulling. But this time she held on. She fought against it. It was just as she was about to smash into the ground, so close that she could see the flowers in the grass, that Clarke roared; and she pushed. She rolled with all she could to the side, and, her wings flapping uselessly behind her, it worked.

She slammed into the river, just missing the lip of the ground.

The water reared up around her like a dome, rising its arms around her only to come crashing back down. The river was actually quite deep here, but still Clarke struggled to push out her wings, add any of kind draft that could slow her down. It was a hundreds times harder to move her wings under water than in air, but she just managed to. The water blasted in her ears, leaving nothing else to be heard. And while it sounded like she had pissed off the world’s biggest bear, it slowed her down.

When her feet touched the sandy riverbed, it was gently.

Clarke almost laughed in absurdity; she had done it. She was alive. Not splayed out in a million pieces. And she would have, would have laughed from sunset till daybreak, but then she remembered why she couldn’t. She was still deeply underwater.

She tried swimming upwards, and realised that while the wings had been helpful in slowing her down, they were her worst enemy in getting her back up. Trying to swim while they stuck idly on her back was near impossible. Oxygen was becoming a problem now, her lungs anxiously savouring the stretched breaths it had. Clarke longingly stared upwards, her eyes stinging from the water but still seeing the dazzling sun above. It taunted her as if it were a hand that she could pull. Clarke barred her teeth at it, regretting it the instant she did, because she lost pockets of precious air.

It was sheer stubbornness that made her beat her wings underwater. It hurt, god it _hurt_ , to fight so hard against the invisible hands that clung onto her wings and pushed back with all their might. But Clarke found with red cheeks and aching lungs, that it was working. She was going up. She added in her legs as well, kicking furiously as her wings beat with the same intensity. Her arms and hands were added to the mix when her vision started to blur dangerously, terrifying black dots spotting her sight.

Her movements became rushed and sloppy. Exhaustion settling into her bones even if she tried and failed to fight it off. But it didn’t matter, all that mattered was that she was moving, she wasn’t gone yet, she could still see and the sun was so close now even if her vision was at the edge of being-

Her head burst through the water, and the breath that she gasped was so deep it took seconds just to breathe it in. Her arms and legs felt like lead as she hastily crawled to land, dragging her body onto the solid grass. The moment she was on it she was collapsing. Her lungs were gulping in as much as they could, Clarke having never appreciated fresh air so much until now. She was lying on her front, and painfully she used her shaking arms to push herself up so she could properly breathe and not be so restricted.

She had no strength left in her arms, but she didn’t know if it’d be worse to lie on her wings. They were pulsing as well, sodden and aching, stuck to the sides of her ribs, as they couldn’t hold themselves up. Clarke didn’t know if she could take it. Fighting against holding the weight of them while wanting nothing more than to collapse and sleep for a thousand ages. For the first time since she grew them, she just wanted them gone.

And apparently her body was listening.

At first, there was a tingling at her back. Then the sensation moved upwards, winding up her wings, filtering through each individual feather. Clarke couldn’t see it, but it was the feathers that went first. For a breath they all began to shine. Like they were mirrors that glinted in the sunlight. The tingling changed then, more to warmth. Not quite a burning, but still hot and strange. The feathers, like how they had been grown, began to fold in on themselves. Starting from the tip, they began to roll and disappear. As the feathers went, the muscle began retracting to, taking the bone with it. Those movements were jerky and painful. Not nearly as bad as when they had been grown, but unlike the feathers they held pain in their retraction.

The bone and muscles slipped back under her back, the muscle disappearing until it was just bone. There was a rise in a back, until the bone finally sunk fully into her, and it was like they were never there. Just two scars where the bone would come out. Had come out.

Her wings were gone.

And Clarke let herself finally collapse.

Her arms gave out, but she rolled onto her back just before she smacked into the ground. She stared up into the sky, where she had just been, and despite everything, despite how her clothes and hair were soaked, how her arms and legs hurt from fighting against nearly drowning; Clarke smiled.

She was still smiling when she felt the slight draft of something landing next to her. She didn’t need to look to see what it was. The dove just stared at her, the relief, not that Clarke could see, from seeing the girl alive and well clear in its dark eyes. It jumped up onto Clarke’s chest, folding its legs and lying down. It was so light that it barely affected Clarke’s breathing. Clarke lifted her head slightly so she could lock eyes with the bird. It leant forward and bumped its beak with her nose.

‘ _I’ve seen worse._ ’

-

Getting back home took longer than she thought it would.

Thankfully she had gone flying that morning, so when she was done napping and some strength was back in her limbs the sun was only halfway across the sky. The dove, surprisingly, stayed with her for the rest of the day, flying up through trees and diving back down, advising Clarke on where it had seen the cave and which direction to go. A part of her was jealous of how easily and smoothly it took off and landed, but it was easy to ignore that and instead to just be in awe.

‘ _One day_ ,’ the dove had promised her, its eyes shining bright. ‘ _One day you’ll fly like you walk._ ’ Clarke was padding through the grass as it said this; the bird perched happily on her shoulder, content with just catching a free ride. Clarke scrunched her nose.

“ _Are you sure?_ ” she had asked, the doubt clear in her voice. The dove nipped her ear in response. Clarke yelped.

‘ _Of course I’m sure.’_ The dove huffed. Clarke rubbed her slightly red ear with a scowl. She grumbled some not-so-nice things under her breath, and somehow the dove heard because it was nipping her ear again, a bit harder than the last.

“ _Quit it!_ ” Clarke hissed, lightly pushing the bird. Not enough for it to fall off her shoulder, just for it to squawk and ruffle it’s feathers.

If a dove could laugh it did.

They made it back just as the sun began to set. Mostly because they kept getting distracted. Clarke may have been part-angel, but she was also twelve. A kid. A human being. They played a variety of games on the way there, from chase, to tag, to Clarke just sprinting in any direction as the dove flew just centimeters next to her, running and running with nothing but a grin so wide on her face her teeth would glint in the light.

When they made it back to the den, Clarke saw Nethon anxiously pacing at the mouth of the cave. Sasha was looking nervous as well, sitting on her haunches and staring out onto the lands, like if she looked hard enough that head of blonde would suddenly appear. So when Clarke _did_ appear, a dove on her shoulder, Nethon despite his old age was sprinting down the hill so fast he was on her in seconds. He pounced on her, Clarke going down with a yelp. The dove had jumped ship the moment it caught the wolf moving, in that while it had taken a liking to Clarke, it didn’t quite trust the human’s odd choice in family.

“ _Get off me Nethon!_ ” Clarke squealed, trying to push off the ecstatic wolf that was licking her face as furiously and as sloppily as he could. Her face was drenched in dribble by the time she finally managed to shove him off, only to then again be pounced on by Sasha, who thankfully wasn’t as crazy with the slobbering like Nethon. She still got doused in another layer. Shoving Sasha off her like she did Nethon, Clarke scrambled up to her feet smiling.

Nethon was rubbing against her leg the moment he could, and soon Sasha was too. Clarke gently nudged them away with her foot.

“ _I’m fine, there’s no need to smother me,_ ’ Clarke giggled. Nethon practically glowed with warmth at the sound.

‘ _I was worried,_ ’ he said seriously. Clarke’s giggles subsided. ‘ _You were gone for so long and…’_

She crouched down, grabbing the sides of his face with her hands. She tangled her fingers into his greying fur. “ _I’m fine, see? I’m okay._ ” She assured, not letting go until his shoulders finally slumped. Then she lent forward and rested her forehead against his own. His eyes squeezed shut, as did Clarke’s. She waited till their breathing was in sync. “ _I’m okay._ ” Clarke whispered.

He finally believed her.

They pulled apart, Clarke giving him a small smile. Nethon’s eyes softened like he did too. Suddenly Clarke found a hesitant paw on her leg, and she turned to find Sasha staring at her strangely. The blonde wolf glanced at Clarke’s back.

‘ _Where are your wings?’_ she asked, her voice both afraid and curious. Clarke’s smile grew. She stood up; Sasha’s paw going back to the ground. Nethon was looking at her weirdly too now, as if he’d only just now started wondering what Sasha had asked.

“ _They’re still there._ ” Clarke said, watching identical creases in the two wolf’s brows. “ _They’re just hidden,_ ” Clarke went on. “ _If I want I think I can make them come out again. I just have to really really want it._ ”

Sasha tilted her head. ‘ _Will it hurt like before?’_

“ _I hope not._ ” Clarke mumbled in response. There was worry that further furrowed Nethon’s brow, before he seemed to let the thought pass and instead looked past her. He squinted his eyes at the dove that was staring right back at him, sitting on a nearby bush branch only a few metres away. Sasha followed his gaze, Clarke too when she saw her family weren’t looking at her anymore. When she spun around and saw the dove, she grinned wide. She turned back to the wolves. “ _That’s the bird that helped me fly, and helped me a little when I crashed._ ”

Nethon’s head whipped onto her.

‘ _Crashed?!’_ he exclaimed, but Clarke waved him off.

“ _I’m fine. Don’t worry._ ” She beckoned the dove forward. “ _Come, meet my pack._ ”

The dove seemed hesitant. Glancing nervously between the wolves and Clarke. Clarke frowned, but eventually she understood. If she focused hard enough on it, she could feel its fear. She stepped back toward the dove. “ _You can’t hurt them. They helped me, the dove is my friend._ ”

Sasha and Nethon looked to her surprised, but Clarke plowed on, her voice hardening.

“ _No one will hurt them. Understand?’_

It wasn’t quite a growl, but it was something close. The strength of it, while it made Nethon uneasy; it also made him proud. He dipped his head. ‘ _No one will hurt the dove._ ’ He echoed. Sasha didn’t need any convincing, if Clarke said she couldn’t hurt them than she wouldn’t. Still, she echoed Nethon’s words. Upon hearing them Clarke felt relief bloom in her chest. She turned to the dove again, eyes hopeful.

It’s those stupidly heart-wrangling eyes that had the dove caving and fluttering over. It landed on Clarke shoulder, not quite comfortable to be on even ground with them. While the wolves did stare at it, Clarke was pleased when it wasn’t in hunger, but in curiosity. Her heart somehow expanded till it’s twice its size. Nethon bobbed his head at the dove.

Animals can’t quite communicate to each other like Clarke can with them.

But certain things you understand whether in words or not.

-

Flying gets easier.

Practice was the key, Clarke found. She practiced flying everyday. Normally in the mornings, so she could come back in time to go on hunts with the pack. Nethon, unsurprisingly, did not like the idea of Clarke flying. When Clarke flew he couldn’t be with her, couldn’t do anything but watch and pray that she’d end up all right. The only comfort he had was the dove, who, while being just a dove, he interrogated everyday to know how Clarke was doing; if she was being reckless, if she was taking any unnecessary risks. Clarke would have to act as the mediator in those events as, bird and wolf, couldn’t exactly talk with each other so easily like Clarke could.

The dove actually settled in very quickly with the pack. At the start, it was cautious. Always staying near Clarke, perched on her shoulder, holding on to her arm, always touching the one thing it had between flying in the morning or becoming wolf dinner at night. And at first, it had every right to be cautious. The pack, after all _do_ stare; some lick their teeth, some dare a couple paces too close. Clarke would snarl every time they’d do so though, and eventually, when Clarke’s snarl somehow reverberates around the cave like a boom, just a little harsher than Nethon’s, they all begin to back down. And they listen instead.

After a month, the dove became a more regular presence. When two months passed all the hesitancy was thrown to the wind, and instead the dove gains so much confidence that it rivals Sasha in ego levels. It doesn’t just stand on Clarke, but on the wolves. On their back, on their heads, even on their nose if its Sasha or Nethon. Of course though, it will always end up coming back to Clarke. When Clarke slept, Nethon and Sasha as always curled by her sides; sometimes the dove snuggles in too. Hidden in the crook of Clarke’s arms.

After a month of flying everyday, the pain of growing and retracting the wings, significantly lessoned. Each time there’s less blood, less grunting and white-hot agony that has Clarke questioning whether it’s worth it. Now it had become quite tolerable. In the second month, Clarke can take off flawlessly. The process involved a lot of failures, a lot of trips and swears and curses that have Nethon snapping at her for her profound language. It was a very trying process, but Clarke ground through it relentlessly. Even when her wings ached and her legs shook from constantly running and attempting to jump and take off; never, did Clarke give up.

The one thing Clarke couldn’t get was landing. For some reason, she found it a thousand times harder than taking off, or diving, or rising, or really _anything_ that wasn’t trying to land on the ground with two feet. Most of Clarke’s flying training was done with just her and the dove, Nethon if he’s feeling extra anxious, but whenever it was a designated landing training day, it was Sasha who would come sprinting. Well, not quite sprinting.

There was a limp in her run now. Not from injury, just old age. When Clarke had noticed her first instinct was to try healing it, and she did try, but it didn’t work. Afterwards, still Sasha would limp, still would she run out of breath a little too fast. She’d play it off when Clarke would throw her concerns, either in a nip at a heel or a playful barring of her teeth. Eventually Clarke let it go. But it still bugged her in the back of her head.

Though even with her limp, Sasha _loved_ watching Clarke try to land. Simply because it was absolutely hilarious. Clarke would always crash, not hard enough for injury, just hard for enough for Sasha to howl with unbridled delight. Clarke would growl at her from across the grass, and Sasha’s eyes would widen before she desperately tried to escape a thundering twelve-year old charging for her. While landing days Clarke did dread, a part of her loved just for the sole reason of Sasha’s antics.

It had been around three months since Clarke had grown her wings, not that Clarke could tell that. Currently she was treading through an unfamiliar forest, the trees thinner than the ones she knows and the bark a shade too bright. The air even smelled different, smokier than she what she’s used too. Her bare feet ached with walking around for hours with no clue where to go. Clarke huffed, letting her back fall against a nearby tree with a _thud_.

She was lost.

She hadn’t meant to be. It had been a normal morning. Clarke had gotten up, she had had a little play fight with Vora, managing to best the younger wolf, she had stood by the mouth of the cave and waited for the dove to appear, which it had, gliding down and landing easily on her shoulder. She had even had a delicious breakfast of some nuts and berries she’d found and stored from the other day. Everything had been going fine. All was going good, until she had gotten up in the air. As always, the dove flew next to her, but the moment they were up Clarke could feel its sudden tension.

She had asked what it was, not getting anything in reply but a ‘stay close’. Clarke had listened; drifting so she was only just a couple metres away from the small bird. They had been sailing through the air relatively peacefully, when there was a sudden gust of wind. It was stronger than usual, very strong, and just from the rogue brush alone Clarke had to readjust herself hastily in the sky. And when Clarke looked over her shoulder, she saw the dove was regaining itself too. Which wasn’t a good sign.

The moment it had its balance back it was hissing at her to get back on ground as fast as she could. Clarke was confused, wasting time with furrowing her brow and questioning. It was her mistake, because another wind came harsher than before, and for a moment she lost control completely and she dropped from the sky. But her wings shot out fast enough that she didn’t fall far. Panic was setting in then. The wind was fighting against her, and it was taking all of her effort just to stay up. She tried leaning forward to get some distance back to the ground, but it’d grab her by the ankles and try to fling her before she could.

Clarke realised the reason behind the sudden change a little too late.

A storm.

She had seen the grey clouds in the morning but figured nothing of it, figured that they’d go away, or that they were so far away it didn’t matter. But she was wrong. And she was way too close to those growing grey clouds. At spotting them she expected some kind of response, some advice at what to do from the bird. But when she looked behind her she saw nothing.

She’d lost the dove.

The storm grew heavier and the winds grew stronger, and Clarke was struggling to stay up. She was aiming for the ground, diving with all the strength she could, but rain was falling now and it soaked her wings into lead. A random burst of wind in particular caught Clarke off guard, as she was too focused on blinking the water out of her eye and trying to spot a place to land. Deciding whether it’d be worth it to just stop beating her wings and to free-fall. The slap of wind was so strong that she didn’t have to chance to think it anymore, because it shoved her out of the turmoil of the clouds and threw her back toward the earth.

She smashed into the ground. But not too hard. On the way down she managed to push out her wet wings, thankfully slowing her somewhat. The rest was the work of the trees, which while painful it was to fall through them, by the time she finally reached the dirt she didn’t break anything from the impact.

Gratefully, she hadn’t gained any serious injuries from the crash. Sure, her arms and legs were bleeding, but they were with tiny marks and scratches. The only real worry Clarke had was this particular scar she’d gotten on her arm that was longer and deeper than the rest. It stung a lot, and she had to rip the bottom part of her white shirt to cover it and stop any bleeding. Currently the wrap was now stained red.

Clarke let her back sink into the tree. She had gotten rid of her wings, she was too tired to fly and she’s pretty sure that she ripped quite a few feathers in the fall. She just hoped they could heal. Because if they didn’t, then she has no idea what she’d do. Clarke screwed her eyes shut. She forced a couple deep breaths, tried to identify everything in the smells around her. Find anything to her help her trace her way home. She let the breath out through her mouth. She opened her eyes with a scowl.

She still had no clue where she was.

The problem was that while Clarke had been caught in the storm it had tossed her around a bit, disorienting her and dragging her in whatever direction it had taken her in. She’d been dropped out of the sky like a discarded toy. There was also the addition that they had been a little further out than usual before they hit the storm, which put even more distance between her and home.

She was trying to deny it, but Clarke could feel a certain anxiety building in her stomach. Like an ever-expanding ball of tight constricting nerves. The sun wasn’t too far in the sky, she had time to get home, she knew that; but she was still nervous. Clarke pulled her back off the tree. There was another option apart from just wandering aimlessly, but she didn’t know if she could pull it off. Sure, she’d trained when she was younger, and she still practiced it, but she didn’t know if it was enough. Clarke walked slowly through the trees.

No. She could try. She would.

She took another deep breath, stopping her steps.

Then she howled.

It hurt her throat a bit, the sheer intensity of it, but she ignored it and carried through. She put as much power as she could into it, tried to convey her distress through the sounds. She felt like she got it. But she wouldn’t know until they found her. If they found her. Clarke swallowed the lump the throat, which was like gulping sand. No, they’d find her. They would. Or she’d find them.

She’d be fine. She would.

Right?

She howled again, but her voice shook this time. It trembled, trembled with the doubts and fears that she wouldn’t dare give voices to. She howled till her throat was reduced to tatters. And when she couldn’t howl anymore she slumped by a rock, let her body fall back and slide against it. It was cold and slightly stung her bare skin. It didn’t faze her as much as it should. She still used the clothes from that bag her Dad had left her all those years ago, meaning that they didn’t quite fit anymore. Sometimes it made her wish that she had fur like Nethon, just so she’d never get cold and she wouldn’t have to worry about washing her clothes in the river weekly or they ended up stinking like a five day old carcass.

She was trying not to cry. She’d gotten lost before, why was she being so intensely affected by this now? Clarke knew she shouldn’t cry, but from all the times she’d gotten lost before in her life, there was something she always was. She was never alone. She had Sasha or Nethon or even the dove. She always had _someone_. Except now. Now, she was completely alone.

And the feeling terrified her.

She just had to wait. They would hear her howl, and now all she had to do was just wait for them to come. She could do that. Clarke sucked in a nervous breath, only slightly calming the storm in her stomach. Her eyes briefly glanced the surroundings around her, double checking that there wasn’t anything nasty waiting in the trees for her to close her eyes. When she didn’t see anything, not even when she sniffed the air, her back fully slacked against the rock. Nothing looking for a meal it seemed. Her eyes fluttered to a close.

She fell asleep for a bit. Not long though. Just long enough for breeze to change directions. Though she was awake, Clarke refrained from opening her eyes. It was weirdly nice, this little space, where the world wasn’t quite real yet. All she had was the sounds and smells, the things that are somehow so much more powerful than sight. But sight still ignorant enough to block those other senses out. Clarke scrunched her nose, trying harder to focus on it. On her hearing, on the tang in the air. She wasn’t expecting much, maybe just the birds or the moist in the dirt, but instead she heard something completely out of place.

Whispering.

She couldn’t make out the words, but it was like the moment she had realised it was there; the whispers grew twice as loud. She concentrated more intently on the sound, and she was surprised that it left her slightly dizzy. The longer she listened, the more it felt like the whispers were filling up her head.

She had to find the whispers.

It was all she could suddenly think about. Find the source. Her eyes burst open, her feet slipping as they got up a moment too fast before her balance could kick in. She stood in the grass, yellowing leaves crinkling under her toes. She strained her hearing, spinning behind her when the whispers seemed to scream in delight. A few of the words made it to her.

_This way. Follow me._

Clarke obeyed the words without a second thought. At first she was walking, but then the whispers swelled up in her mind like a balloon and she was running. Her head felt warm. It was like all other thoughts had been shoved out of her mind, like something had slipped into her head and was blocking everything else. For a moment, she actually struggled to remember where she was. Why she was here, and why she didn’t recongise the trees. Her steps slowed when she realised this. Wasn’t she meant to stay where she had been?

The whispers wrapped around her entire body like a blanket when Clarke had stopped moving. The words dripped with warmth. _It doesn’t matter. Follow me._ Clarke suddenly blinked, the world for a moment going fuzzy and her legs feeling like jelly. She swayed, before her arm shot out to a tree to stop her from falling. She stared through the trees, squinting when everything was spread in double and spinning. Spinning and spinning and spinning.

Wasn’t she waiting for someone?

_You were waiting for no one. Follow me._

The world began to bend and swirl.

_Come. This way._

Clarke shook her head. No, she _was_ waiting for someone. For… for….

The whispers had been gentle, soft, but suddenly they turned into something else from Clarke’s hesitance. It wasn’t harsh like she expecting, but softer. So, so much softer. Like the sun was whispering in her ear. Clarke without thinking felt herself lean towards it. _Follow_. She felt like she could barely keep her head up it was so heavy. But she managed to stay upright, taking her hand off the tree. She couldn’t fight it any longer, she didn’t want to.

The whispers coiled around her neck like a snake, but instead of squeezing, it grinned. Clarke was running again. The second she was heading in the direction of the whispers the world stopped swinging and her balance miraculously reappeared. But everything still felt distorted. Her peripheral vision was warped, the edges a blur while the colours in the world felt off. The shadows were a shade too bright, the streaks of sunlight dotted with a darkness it shouldn’t possess; the reds were yellows, the greens were blues. And somehow Clarke didn’t even properly realise this.

All she could think was to find the whispers.

The closer she got, the more enticing and excited they became. She thought she was panting with how hard she was sprinting, but she couldn’t be sure. Everything felt too far away to know. All she knew was she just had to find them. Find the source of whispers, be with them, touch them. It was all that mattered. She tripped a few times as she ran, but the pulsing of her toe never reached her, the only thing that did was the _need_ that grew relentlessly with every second that passed. The whispers were getting louder and louder.

_So close. Keep going. Keep running._

Clarke didn’t need to be told twice. She pushed herself faster, and the heaviness in her head doubled. It was so intense that she staggered, her legs for a moment feeling like they were completely disconnected from her body. Like someone was playing with a doll and pulling the pieces apart for fun. The ground flew up to meet her, but she was so numb to everything that she didn’t feel anything from the fall, and instead just scrambled up to her feet as quickly as she could. Because she was getting so close now. She could feel it in her gut.

She didn’t notice that the trees were thinning out. That they were becoming few and far between, that there were less leaves blocking the sun from above. She didn’t even notice that the forest wasn’t filled with forest sounds anymore, but more human sounds, grumbles and laughs and shouts. She was just blindly following the whispers. Anything else around her didn’t matter.

When she stumbled out into the last of the trees, the whispers nearly howled in sinister delight, cackling gleefully with their head thrown back. _Closer! You are so close now!_ The world melded again, fuzzing at the edges. But she kept moving, kept running. The whispers buzzed constantly in her ear, edging her on, making sure she never stopped, never looked back. They filled her head so that she didn’t even properly see the tents that had been set up ahead, the uniformed men and woman who were milling about in them, strolling casually through their base.

Clarke was so close now.

She almost ran straight in. Nearly, did she burst into the camp and finally find the source of whispers. But instead Clarke slammed into someone. Her sight was already fading in and out, and her sense of surroundings was even worse, so it wasn’t that much of a surprise that she had. Still, she had crashed into them at full speed and it had knocked the wind out of her. Clarke lay splayed on the ground, fumbling for the feeling in her hands so she could be running again, be getting closer to the whispers. Whoever she had knocked into helped her up, and distantly she recongised them to be a man. A _human_ man.

But everything kept swaying and her mind felt too bloated to care.

“Woah, slow down there kid,” the man chuckled, narrowing his eyes slightly as Clarke desperately tried to find her feet and then immediately try to move past him. He grabbed her shoulders. “Hey. Relax.”

Clarke struggled in his grip, but he only held tighter. “Let go! I need to get closer!”

“Closer to what?” he asked, unease slipping into his voice.

“The whispers,” Clarke said. But the moment she said it she frowned, suddenly realising she was talking in English. Fluently. Sure, she had been studying it for a while but…

 _Why are you stopping? You are so close_.

Clarke tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

“The whispers? What whispers?” he questioned, and while his face may have remained passive his voice was getting panicked.

Clarke nearly escaped his grip then, managing to loose an arm, but he regained his grip almost as quick as he had lost it. She peered up at him. “The whispers, can’t you hear? I have to get to them. I’m so close.”

“No, you can’t mean…” he glanced behind him, then back to her. “Where are they telling you to go?” he asked softly. Clarke pushed harder to go around him, but it didn’t work. His grip was like iron.

“There,” she nodded her chin behind him. Her head swarm when she looked in the direction of where it was coming from. Clarke saw it was coming from a particular tent, right in the far back. The man’s gaze followed where Clarke had pointed out, and when he turned back to face her his face had paled like a ghost’s. His jaw dropped.

“No… you can’t…” he blinked a couple times, as if that would change it. If that would change that fact she was-

“Let me go!” Clarke growled. The man didn’t move.

He stared right into her eyes. “But you’re just a kid,” he whispered. His voice broke. “How can you just be a kid?”

It was while he was in his little revelation that Clarke found an opening, one that she instantly dived for. His grip had slackened just enough, and she finally managed to rip herself from his hands, his fingers reaching for her the moment she was out. The relief from escaping was dizzying, but she couldn’t let herself dwell on it. The whispers were so close now. She sprinted for them, sprinted for the tent, but before she even made it into the base someone was lunging for her waist. She slammed into the ground, the man snatching his arms around her and lugging her back. She tried to yell, but he immediately pulled her to his chest and brought his hand over her mouth.

“Shut up!” he hissed. “You can’t make a sound!”

Clarke’s reply was a muffled scream.

He pulled her further back away from the base, hastily scanning the area around him. When he saw no one had heard them he relaxed ever so slightly. The man scowled down at Clarke. “Are trying to get yourself killed?” he growled.

Clarke said something in reply, but he couldn’t make it out because of his hand. Clarke seemed to realise this too. She stopped struggling and instead just looked up to him. Waiting. He hesitated.

“You promise not to scream?” he whispered. Clarke paused, really considering it, before nodding. He released a relieved breath. Slowly, he brought his hand back to his side, staring at her the entire time. Waiting for her to go back on her word. When she didn’t, he bobbed his head back at her. Clarke took that as clue enough.

“I need to get to the whispers.” She said, which was what she said when his hand had been covering her mouth. His face contorted strangely then, like the parts of his features were fighting over to what to express. He opened his mouth then closed it. His grip tightened on her then it loosened.

When he finally spoke, it was with a voice she hadn’t heard him use yet. Like every wall of defense had been ripped down, and all it left was him in most vulnerable, and true, form. “You don’t want to do that.”

“Yes I do.” Clarke frowned. She know she wanted to. She _needed_ to.

But the man shook his head. “No. You don’t. The whispers… they’re to draw you out. To bring you here. The people here, they’ll kill you if they see you.” Carefully, he slacked his grip enough that Clarke wouldn’t be pressed up against him anymore. It was an olive branch Clarke noticed, somehow. The fog in her head was starting to clear.

“Aren’t you the people?” Clarke asked, tilting her head.

He stared at her. His mouth opened then closed, grip tightened then loosened. He tried to answer, but his throat blocked off before he could. Clarke was staring at him too, watching the flurry of emotions flash across face, trying and failing to keep up with them all. She was used to wolf faces anyway. Hold on. Wolves… wasn’t she waiting for-

 _Waiting for no one. Follow me. All you need is to follow me._ The whispers slipped in through her blood, muddled her vision and dragged her bones. There was a burst of dizziness that engulfed her; almost so much that she fell over. The man caught her before she did. This close, she managed to recongise his expression. Helpless pain.

He was just about to say something, try and answer what Clarke had asked, when a sudden voice rung out close by.

“James? How long does it take you to smoke mate?” the voice called, scratchy and rough.

The man, James, froze like a deer in the headlights. There was panic that etched itself into every inch of his dark skin, until a second passed, where he looked down at Clarke; and he saw the bloodied scar on her arm and the ripped bit of shirt she’d used to wrap it, the glazed look in her eye, the way her body was just too small. He looked down at the child he was supposed to kill.

And the panic morphed in desperate determination.

“Be there in a sec lad, can you cover?”

The seconds it took for the voice to answer felt like centuries.

“‘Course I can, who do you think I am?” the voice rumbled a deep laugh then, as if his joke was award-winning. James answered with a nervous chuckle, though he tried to make it as authentic as he could. When he was done, he crouched down in front of Clarke, one hand still gripped tight to her shoulder. Her eyes were still unfocused. It only resolved his decision even more.

He was about to do something very stupid.

“You want to get to the whispers?” he asked quietly, intently watching for Clarke’s reaction.

Clarke’s face lit up. Yes! Finally he understood! She nodded eagerly, and little too much because it made her sensitive head spin. James smiled weakly then. He offered a hand, taking his clamp grip off her shoulder slowly. Clarke grasped it as tightly as she could. She didn’t know if his face rose or fell.

“Alright, follow me then.” He stood up, Clarke clambering to meet him. He took off at a brisk pace, and for some reason he was going the opposite to where the whispers were coming from. Her head began pound, as if in retaliation for walking the wrong way. She tried to stop, to tug at his hand, but he didn’t let up.

“The whispers-“

“This is a short-cut.” James said. His voice was strained with nerves. “This will be quicker, okay? Just trust me.”

Clarke didn’t say anything, but she followed him anyway. They seemed to stay in the last line of the forest, not going anywhere closer to the set up camps and people. The further they went out the more nervous Clarke became. Her head was throbbing and every now and again she’d trip, her balance and function over her legs swaying in and out. James noticed, and every time he’d just tug her that bit faster, until they weren’t walking anymore but running. He led her into a clearing, his feet skidding on the gravel as he halted to a stop. Clarke stumbled as she stopped too.

He pulled her in the direction of a large black looking object. Clarke squinted her eyes at it. It looked like the things she had seen when she had explored that town years ago, but this one seemed smoother and bigger. James tried to drag her in the direction of it, but Clarke dug her feet into the ground, pulling back. He turned to her with a frown.

“What are you doing? Come on, we’re nearly there.”

“The whispers are further now,” Clarke said, though the more distance she got between her and the voices the more the need to find them felt strange. Her vision wasn’t as fuzzy anymore. The world wasn’t bending in and out like it used too. “You’re taking me away from them. I need to find them.”

He looked at her carefully. “Why do you want to find them?” he asked, keeping his voice gentle. When Clarke just narrowed her eyes at him, he crouched down in front of her. His hand still gripped tightly to hers. “Why do you want to? Don’t you have somewhere to go, parents to find?”

“I don’t have parents,” Clarke replied, feeling her heart ache. She couldn’t quite tell why. The man’s face caved in on itself.

“Are… are they…?” He was trying to avoid saying it, but from the confusion in Clarke’s eye he could tell he was going to have to. He bit his lip. “Are they dead?” he whispered.

Clarke was slow to reply. Her memories and thoughts felt like water in her hands, constantly slipping through her grasp. “I don’t think so,” she mumbled. She thought harder, willing her brain to cooperate. There was that warmth in her head again that bloomed tauntingly, but with great effort she managed to push it aside. “I have a mother. I saw her years ago.”

James kept quiet for a bit.

Then he dipped his head, and they were walking again. Clarke didn’t resist this time, though a part of her wanted to. The whispers, though fainter, were also becoming like silk again. Like river currents that wanted to pull her under. She fought off its invisible fingers like she was trying to swat a fly she couldn’t see. James led her over to one of the bigger looking black things, and when they were close enough to touch he threw his head over his shoulder, eyes jumping to scan the surroundings. When he saw no one, he released the breath he’d been holding. Clarke jumped in surprise when he reached toward the black blob and pull something out. A door.

He saw how she was looking at him weird. “What?”

“What is that?” Clarke said, slight fear clinging to the edges of her words. James shook his head with an amused smile.

“This? It’s a car.”

Clarke just stared at him.

“It’s like… it’s something that lets you run really really fast without moving your body,” he went on, watching how Clarke’s frown only deepened. “Here,” he pulled the door open wider, gesturing for her to go in. “You sit in the chair, and the wheels, the round things on the bottom,” he pointed them out for her, “they’ll start spinning when I tell them to, and the car will move with us in it.”

Somehow, Clarke both understood but at the same time was more confused. In the end, she just bobbed her head at him. He gave her a shaky smile.

“Right. Now you just gotta’ get in the car, just… yeah just jump up there.” He helped Clarke adjust into the passenger seat. “There you go, perfect. Now, you just wait there while I come ‘round the other side, yeah?”

“Then we go to the whispers?”

He shot her a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. We’ll go to the whispers.” He took in a shaky breath. “Just wait here.”

Clarke, for no reason she could work out, listened. He shut the car door, Clarke jolting when the slam was louder than she expected. Through the glass she saw him wince, obviously regretting not taking the effort to close it slow. He quickly disappeared from view sprinting around the car. Clarke sat in her sit awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do. Whatever she was sitting on, James had called it a chair, felt strange. While it was one of the most comfortable and softest things she had ever sat on, it was also weird and unknown. The entire car was alien really. The solid see-through material around her, the hard and soft smooth surfaces, the small black box in front of her that seemed to glow with numbers.

The door to the right of her suddenly jerked open, her racing heart calming down when she saw it was James. He smiled in apology for startling her. He swiftly maneuvered himself into his seat, not wasting anytime to pull the keys out of his pocket and shoving them into the ignition. When the car roared to the life Clarke snapped her sight onto James panicked, her hands gripping white to the edges of her seat. His eyes widened.

“Oh no, no, it’s okay! It’s okay! It’s just the car turning on,” he explained, Clarke still not letting go of her death grip. He let go of the steering wheel and instead leaned over to her. Reaching over he pulled the seatbelt down, clicking it in and making sure it was secure. Clarke looked even more scared. He gently pried one of her hands off the chair, moving it so it was touching the seatbelt. “This will hold you in and keep you safe. The car will move and bump, but this,” he tapped the belt. “This will make sure nothing bad happens, okay? If you don’t feel safe, hold on to it.”

Clarke gave him a skeptic look, but he saw how her shoulder’s relaxed against the seat. Instead of holding onto the chair she now held onto the strap of her seatbelt. James smiled brightly.

“There you go. Perfect.”

Clarke didn’t say anything in reply.

His hands adjusted back to the wheel, and Clarke watched his actions closely as the car started to move. When it began to roll out Clarke fingers coiled desperately around the strap. Anxiety brewed up a storm in her gut. The car began moving faster once it was out of the clearing, hastily picking up speed as it drifted out onto thin dirt roads. At first Clarke was terrified, and she didn’t let herself open her eyes but instead keep them shut tight. But eventually, surprisingly, she adjusted to it, and carefully she let them flutter open. And they were widening not a second later.

They were moving so fast. It was what she’d imagined she’d see if you could open your eyes and clearly watch the world around you as you rolled down a hill. For a moment, she forgot about any of her fears and doubts and pressed her face up against the glass, the feeling of it oddly cool. The outside world looked so weirdly incredible. Everything blended into each other as the car sped past, and Clarke couldn’t help but grin widely at the sight. She let herself get lost in the sights for a while. The whispers drifted further and further from her mind, even as they threw every last bit of effort they had, its lingering grip finally being cut off of Clarke as they drove far enough out.

James waited till Clarke was sitting back in her seat before he spoke to her again.

“What’s your name?” he asked, briefly glancing to her. Clarke stiffened. But she answered anyway, as she felt like she could trust him. And she had always been a good judge of character.

“Clarke.” She mumbled, her voice small. James threw her another look. His face was surprisingly soft.

“Last name?” he pushed.

Clarke hesitated. “Griffin.”

His nose scrunched up then, his brow furrowing. He glanced between her and the road, whispering something incoherent under his breath. Clarke stayed silent, mostly because she was slightly uneasy as to why he wanted her name, when suddenly the tension in his face was released, and realisation shone itself in his eyes. He chuckled, mostly in is belief.

“Griffin,” he breathed, like it was the answer to everything. “You… you really are that angel’s kid aren’t you? Abby and Jake Griffin’s daughter?”

Clarke’s head snapped onto his, though he was still looking out onto the road. Those names. _Those_ were her parent’s names. She hadn’t heard them in so long she had almost forgot them.

How could she have almost forgotten?

“How do you know them?” Clarke asked, her heart pounding in her chest ruthlessly. She could feel her pulse in her hands.

All that lightness, any traces of happiness drained from his face till it was left empty and blank. The only thing that betrayed emotions were his eyes, that when he turned to peek a look at her and Clarke caught sight of them, she saw the pain in them. He ground his teeth. “I-I was told,” he stuttered. Clarke frowned from it. Was he… scared? No, that wasn’t it. His grip tightened on the wheel. “I know where your mother is. I’ll take you there.” Clarke stared harder at him, her eyes squinting. She could see it now; it wasn’t fear but… shame. That was it. That was what was hidden in his face. He caught her staring, not that Clarke was trying to hide it, shrinking under her weirdly intense gaze. “That okay with you? That I take you to your mother’s?” he asked, trying to throw her attention off him.

It did. But mostly because Clarke could see he was uncomfortable, not that she knew why. “You know where she is?”

He simply nodded his head at her.

“Okay.” She said quietly. He shot her a look; equal parts relived and concerned.

“You don’t want to find the whispers anymore?”

Clarke went to immediately say that, yes, she did, when she realised that she didn’t. She frowned. She couldn’t actually hear the whispers anymore, and that need to find the source that had been so overpowering was completely gone now, leaving Clarke wondering why she even wanted to find it so badly in the first place. “No… I don’t.” She eventually said. She noticed how his back slacked against his seat.

“Good.” He breathed. He nodded, but mostly to himself. “Good.” He repeated.

Clarke remained quiet for the rest of the journey.

-

The drive took about two hours.

If he were obeying the laws, then it would’ve taken three or four.

Clarke stared out the window the majority of the drive. James had tried to start a conversation once or twice, Clarke too, but every time she’d go to tell him something about her life, how she lived, his face would shrink and he’d stop talking. It was always the same thing the bled onto his cheeks. Shame. Clarke didn’t quite get why it was there, but whenever she tried asking him about it he’d shoot down those line of questions fast.

The outside was fun to look at anyway. There were so many things she didn’t understand.

And she loved it.

She saw that there were a _lot_ of other cars. She learnt that the longer they drove the more they seemed to appear, starting with just an occasional drive by on long empty roads, to having to swerve past rows and rows of them, Clarke unable not to flinch at the obnoxious honking. When James took notice of it, he turned on what Clarke learnt to be called a radio. She found it incredible. The sounds, oh the sounds it made! She probably spent at least half the car journey grinning for no reason or trying to sing along to whatever song was playing. James taught her a bunch of new words too. Songs, artist, album. She tried to drink in as much knowledge as she could.

She was also thankful that she could understand English now. Honestly, she was a little surprised that she understood it so quickly. Sure, she had the type of memory where she could be told once and she’d never forget, but sometimes she’d get a burst of unsteadiness mid sentence. Like her brain was catching up to the fact that it was thinking in a different language than to what she was saying.

She didn’t question it for long.

Clarke tried to find out more about James, but he would never let her. He’d either go silent, shoot her a look, or even just completely ignore the question. It bugged Clarke, but not too much. She could understand his reluctance to divulge his life story out. Clarke looked over to him. The sun was setting now, the light making his outline glow slightly orange. White bricked houses flew past in the window.

“Are we close?” Clarke asked. She knew they were, because she had noticed how he was getting tenser and tenser. His grip on the steering wheel was white now. He threw her a glance, releasing a long breath when he saw the look on her face. The kid was smarter than he thought.

“Yeah,” he sighed. He gulped. “Her apartment is just up here.”

The car slowed down. Clarke looked out through the window. They were surrounded by rows of small houses, a tallish red-bricked building up ahead. Clarke guessed that was where they were going. There were some people walking about, an elderly couple on the opposite side of the street, a group of teens on theirs. When James pulled the car up he saw the group too, clenching his jaw. He glanced at Clarke, at her ill-fitting clothes and the blood on her arm and the fact that her skin was a hell of a lot paler than his. It wouldn’t look good.

“You any good at sneaking around kid?” he questioned, his eyes catching sight of the patch of trees across the street. That’d give them some cover.

Clarke’s reply was a wide grin.

He didn’t ask further, just nodding his head and switching off the car. Clarke watched him breathe in one last final breath, briefly shutting his eyes. She noticed how he was counting down from five, whispering the numbers under his breath. When he reached zero he opened his eyes, gave Clarke one last nod, and got out the car.

He walked around till he was on Clarke’s side, Clarke watching him intently through the glass. Waiting for a signal. He paced a couple steps, casually as he could glancing at the pack of teenagers headed towards them. Clarke could see where she was that they weren’t too far, and they seemed to be wrapped up in someone’s story, as the entire groups attention was on one of them. Clarke counted four of them. When one of them tripped because they hadn’t been looking where they were going, too engulfed in the other’s story, James pulled open the car door and Clarke jumped out the second there was enough space.

James stood still for a few moments, leaning against the car door. He then, as quickly-but-still-not-too-quickly strolled over the small patch of bushes and tree, letting his back fall against it.

When he didn’t see Clarke immediately, he frowned. “Kid?” he whispered to the growing dark. “Are you there?”

He didn’t get a reply. There was suddenly a rustling coming from above him, and he jumped out the way just in time for a small blonde to land where he was just standing. He gaped at her, his eyes darting between up where Clarke had been hiding, on a branch, and where she was standing. He shook his head with a chuckle.

“Quite the little monkey huh?”

Clarke tilted her head.

“Never mind,” he waved his hand. He threw a quick look around the tree, spotting the teens crossing the road. “Alright, we’re fine. Let’s move quick and fast.” He didn’t wait for her to respond; just started moving and assumed she’d follow. She did. They kept mostly to the shadows, avoiding the open path. The sun was nearly gone now, the stars slowly beginning their shine throughout the dimming skies. It was a full moon tonight. Clarke stayed a few paces behind him, easily keeping pace and quietly moving around anything in their way. She saw his surprise when one of the doors to a house opened, and she was on the ground rolling for the cover before he’d even lifted a finger. He offered her a small smile then.

They made it the apartment building relatively quickly, Clarke having to step back to stare up at it. It was bigger than anything she’d ever seen. But James didn’t let her dawdle. He gently grabbed her arm, urging her forward. He let go when she started walking again. They ambled up the steps, Clarke still sticking close by his side. He tried opening the door, cursing when it was locked. He shouldn’t be surprised. He’d been so caught up in worrying about everything that he’d forgotten the simplest of things. Like of _course_ the door to an apartment building would be locked.

Thankfully though, it was with a key.

And he was good with locks.

Clarke stared at him curiously as he worked with the lock, crouching right next to him and intently watching each miniscule hand movement. He didn’t comment on it, pretend like Clarke wasn’t there, and Clarke was thankful that he wasn’t telling her off. When he finally got it unlocked, Clarke saw his grin. The type of grin that made someone, no matter how old, look young. He looked to her, and like that reality came crashing. His smile dropped.

“You ready?”

She bobbed her head.

He pushed open the door, Clarke going in first and him second. He checked that no one was behind them before he closed the door. Clarke scanned the surroundings, which were tight and confined. It was mostly stairs, doors with big gold letters hanging on each one on either side of the staircase. The steps were covered in purple carpet, thankfully keeping their steps muted. Clarke and James shared a glance before they began moving up the stairs. He went first this time.

She stayed on his heels, pausing each level that they passed, seeing if that was the one. But every time he’d just shake his head without looking at her and keep moving. They kept moving up and up and up. Clarke was starting to think that it’d be quicker if she just grew her wings from outside and flew. Though, that _probably_ wouldn’t end too well, so Clarke pulled back on the desire. When they finally made it to the very top floor, they stopped.

“This is it,” James whispered. He looked down at Clarke. “Don’t make too much noise okay? Don’t want to wake the neighbours or attract any unwanted attention yeah?”

Clarke nodded, and he took that as answer enough.

“Alright. Now just, let me talk first.” He gently nudged her behind him. They walked up to the door, Clarke seeing the number ten hanging tightly on the red wood. It looked new. James took in one last shaky breath, before lifting his knuckle and tapping the door lightly. They waited a moment. The door didn’t open. James fought off his frown, raising his hand to knock again. He did, a little harder than the last. Still nothing. Clarke tugged on his sleeve.

“Is she not there?” she whispered, peering up at him. He didn’t understand how someone’s eyes could look so innocent.

“She is,” he promised. “Her car was out front. And her light was on in the window. She’s probably just nervous, I mean it’d makes sense for her to-“

The door suddenly swung open, but when James snapped his gaze onto the person behind it with a bright, relived grin, he was instead met with the barrel of a gun aimed at his head. He yelped, instinctually blocking Clarke from view.

Abby Griffin was a dangerous woman. It was common knowledge given out to the Mountain Men soldiers. She was known to be stubborn, and terrifyingly practical if it came down to it; she’d blown up a couple cars in a few of their encounters. While she was something of a panther in a woman’s body, James could also see, with her being so close, that she was tired. Her brunette hair, which in its prime can be soft and smooth, was now tangled. There were bags that sunk deeply under her eyes, the brown in her iris not as bright as they should be.

But what caught most of James’s attention was the pistol digging into his forehead.

“Hey, hey, I mean no harm,” he tried, lifting up his hands so she could clearly see them. Her cold gaze didn’t budge.

“You wear their uniform.” She stated it like it explained everything. Clarke had never heard words so empty. “I assume this is another go for you to kill me? At least the last one actually tried. I saw your car before it even rolled into the street.”

“I-I do wear their uniform, yes, but-“ his voice cracked and he hated that it did. “But I’m not with them anymore. I’ve come to help.”

Abby’s answer was a laugh so cold there should’ve been ice that spread from her feet. “Right,” she chuckled. Her smile was more her baring her teeth. “And the gun at your side is for you to, what, hand over to me so I have a weapon? That knife in your boot for you to slice up fruit?”

“Please, I’m not lying. I’m not.”

Abby cocked the gun. “If only I believed you.”

“Please-“

“Mum?”

Never had a word so small sounded so loud.

Carefully, Clarke pushed her way out from James, even if he tried to push her back. Clarke batted his hand away with a frown, walking out so she was in front of him. Abby was dead still, her hand with the gun shaking. All she could do was stare at Clarke.

“Don’t hurt him,” Clarke said. She was just tall enough to reach for the gun, delicately prying it out of Abby’s fingers. Clarke hated the feel of the metal in her hands and she instantly was kicking it across the floor with her bare foot. “He found you for me. I don’t want you to hurt him.”

Abby’s eyes, which were glistening in the low light, flickered up to meet James’s. He clearly looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t shy away from her gaze. He bobbed his head shakily. “I… she told her me her name was Griffin, so I took her to you.”

“Why?” she breathed, her hands now hanging awkwardly by her sides. It was obvious she was at the verge of sobbing.

“Your- Your daughter ran into me, quite literally. We…” he swallowed the rock in his throat. “ _They_ were testing out their latest experiment to attract halfbloods.”

Abby, somehow, managed to work her jaw again. Her words were slightly chocked. “What… what was the experiment?”

She saw him hesitate.

“ _What_ was it?” Abby hissed, the bite back in her voice. James looked caught, glancing between Clarke and her. But finally, his conscience overruled his training.

“Alie.”

Abby stumbled back. She stared at him open-mouthed. “No, that’s not… that’s not possible. Jake he… he…”

“She survived.” James muttered solemnly. “I caught the kid when she was under the thrall. When I saw it I just… she’s just a kid you know? We’re told that, _taught_ that they’re these things that just cause chaos and killing but…” he shook his head. “How could a child do that?” Abby shut her jaw. Gave him a nod. “So I, I brought her here. To you. I know what I was meant to do, but I couldn’t do it. I didn’t sign on to kill a kid.”

He hadn’t realised he was crying until he found a small hand interlocking with his. He glanced down surprised at Clarke, who offered him a wide smile. “It’s okay,” she said. She squeezed his hand. “Thank you for taking me to my Mum.”

He couldn’t reply.

Abby, numbly, lent down picked the gun Clarke had pushed away off the floor. She tucked it in its usual place behind her back. She looked up to James, the man who had brought her daughter home when he should have killed her. The man who hadn’t. She didn’t smile, but her shoulders slumped and the tiredness that she’d been hiding she finally let free. She let him see her weakness, which in this situation, meant far more than a smile.

“Thank you.” She whispered. She made sure they were staring eye to eye. “Thank you.”

Once again, he swallowed the lump lodged in his throat. “It was nothing.”

They both knew it wasn’t.

With the possible crisis resolved, Clarke turned to her Mum with a dazzling grin, letting everything she had been repressing the moment she saw her out. At seeing the look in her daughter’s eye, Abby couldn’t suppress the sob that broke through every wave of defense she had ever built. Clarke jumped for her, Abby crouching down just in time to catch her attack-hug. She buried her face into the crook of Clarke’s neck. Another sob came through, one so full of relief and joy it made Clarke sob a little too. Abby breathed in Clarke’s scent like it was the only oxygen in the room.

They didn’t let go of the embrace for a long while. Clarke had latched onto her mother with all she had, and she was holding so tight that she didn’t see or notice when James slipped away. Abby did though. He stayed for a few moments, watching their reunion with something unreadable on his face before he finally took the first step back. Abby opened her eyes then, catching his own. They shared a long look. He nodded, and Abby nodded back.

Then the Mountain Man left.

But he never returned to the Mountain.

-

Clarke stayed with Abby for a week.

It was different to say the least.

Really it was like being in an entirely different world. She wasn’t allowed to leave apartment, which Clarke learnt with a pout that _nearly_ had her Mum caving. Abby may have not seen her daughter in years, but still she somehow held the power to resist the legendary Griffin pout, which she knows Clarke inherited from her father. Well, that wasn’t completely true. _Most_ of the time she could resist the pout. Mostly.

Sometimes Clarke’s little face is just too much and she couldn’t _not_ give in.

It was things like that were setting off these fires in her chest.

Though she had to stay inside, Clarke was actually enjoying her new environment. She learnt what TV was, and she watched a damn lot of it, staring with an open mouth at the glowing colours and swirling sounds. She was particularly enjoying a rerun of a show called ‘Friends’ when her Mum came home and switched the channel, Clarke throwing a fit because of it. Abby was surprised at Clarke’s reaction, and a little out of practice, but eventually she got Clarke to calm down and agreed that she could watch it if she was in the room with her. Clarke agreed that those were acceptable terms.

She still watched it when her Mum wasn’t home.

Abby had to work, but after two days of it she couldn’t bare the thought of leaving Clarke alone all day in her apartment, so she took her vacation days and instead spent her hours talking and teaching Clarke as much as she could. It was fascinating and heartbreaking to learn of how Clarke had survived the years. She’d smile, she’d laugh for her daughter, but it didn’t take away the fact that a part of her would shrink and sting at the recollections of her past. Though Abby had missed out on countless years with her daughter, there was something that hadn’t changed about Clarke.

She loved learning.

And she learnt fast. Abby had forgotten how quickly Clarke picked up things. How you’d show her something once and she’d just remember. Clarke had tried explaining to her once, how when she was shown something, it just felt like she had known it her entire life. She didn’t know how, she just felt like she did. Abby knew wholeheartedly it was to do with her father, though she didn’t say. Sometimes Abby would forget what Clarke was. But then she’d look at her, watch how she completed a worksheet of addition with barely any time to practice, and she’d be reminded that Clarke was very not human.

But just human enough to pass it off.

There were some things that were odd about her too, that didn’t come from her angel side. How she’d always sneak up on her, whether intentional or not, Abby not knowing Clarke’s presence to be there until she’d make it known. Or how when she was confused she’d tilt her head. Or how when she was angry she’d make this growling sound, make herself as big as possible and bare her teeth like an animal. She shouldn’t be surprised. She knows she shouldn’t. But she still was, she still forgot time and time again that Clarke had been raised by wolves. And not her.

While Clarke picked the basics of Math quick, she also picked up the other things that Abby taught her too. She taught her how to wield a dagger; how it was like if she had the teeth and jaws of a wolf but in her hand. She had to use a lot of different metaphors to get the point across to her. That slamming the point end of the dagger into something was like if she dived for it with teeth, that guns were like if you could hunt something from miles away. On the sixth day, when Abby had left Clarke alone with a book on self-defense she went out and bought equipment for when Clarke was to go back.

Because she knew she was.

Abby could tell her that her daughter, though happy and excited by all the new things around her, she could tell that each day was also pressing on her with invisible weights. She’d catch how Clarke would stare out the window at a tree for a second too long, how she’d toss and turn in her sleep, only calming when Abby would pull her impossibly close so they were flush against each other. She could tell, even if Clarke tried to hide it, that she wanted to go home. Her other home.

So Abby made sure she could prepare Clarke as best she could.

She taught her as much about survival in the wild, _human_ survival in the woods as much as she could. She taught her about fire; made her practice making one in the kitchen with twigs and kindle she had spent hours searching for in the park. She made sure that Clarke could read, though she went through English almost without trouble anyway, so she didn’t have to worry too hard about that. Really it was like Jake had said, right before he died.

Clarke would learn everything incredibly fast, because she had the determination and curiosity of a human, but the mind and soul of an angel. When Jake was alive, he had almost known everything. When he didn’t know things he’d just have to stop for a while and think, and then suddenly he’d know. Abby had asked about it, and he’d told her without hesitation. Angels weren’t alive, they surpassed death, and in a way they shared one mind. They all carried the knowledge of the deceased before them. They helped the dead move on, after all.

She gave Clarke knew clothes, bought even more. Packed bags with everything she could think of, slipped in books of how to build and create a host of things, even gifted Clarke a sketchbook and pencils that the blonde had squealed giddily at.

She gave Clarke everything she could.

But it was Clarke who gave her the best gift of all.

On the last day, with Clarke standing on the veranda with her overflowing backpack hoisted on her back, Clarke gave her Mum one last hug. They didn’t let go for a while. Clarke tried her best to memorise everything, as unlike the last time Clarke had to leave her Mum, there was no time limit. She traced her face with her eyes, took note of each individual freckle, and she was halfway through working out the exact shade of her iris, when she realised that she didn’t actually have to.

“Could I visit you?” Clarke had whispered, still in the embrace. She felt her Mum stiffen. With what, she couldn’t name.

“It would be very dangerous if you did.” Her Mum answered.

Clarke smiled, slightly.

It wasn’t a no.

“If I was careful?” she asked, her voice muffled by her mother’s hair. She was answered with a pause.

“It would be very far.”

“I’d pace myself.”

“You could be putting Nethon and your pack in danger.”

“I wouldn’t let them see me.”

“You could get hurt.”

“I won’t.”

Abby pulled out of the hug slowly. She held onto Clarke shoulders, looking her carefully in the eye. Clarke had to bite her cheek to stop her grin.

Abby pursed her lips.

“You really want to?”

Clarke’s smile was brighter than the stars. “Of course.”

How could she have said no to a smile like that?

-

They make a plan to visit once each month. Never the same day, incase the Mountain Men spot a pattern. Abby had Clarke learn the calendar, which wasn’t too hard, told her how her father’s watch, which she hadn’t taken off in all these years, how it actually told the time, when the sun was in the sky. She made Clarke remember to count the days, and to visit on a different day than the last, but always a week apart. As always Clarke understood what she was told quickly, and Abby had never been so grateful to marry an angel.

It took Clarke two days to find her way back home.

She flew the majority of it. Kept high in the clouds so she wouldn’t be seen, and even if the air was thinner she glided through with practiced ease. Every now and again she’d pass a flock of birds, and each time she’d squint her eyes at them, try and see if she could find the dove that she knew. But she never did, and instead they’d fly on pass with only a single glance to Clarke, one of just curiosity and nothing more.

She managed to catch bouts of sleep in the sky. She wasn’t too sure how, but maybe with flying constantly for every second of everyday muscle memory had kicked in, keeping her up. They’d only be short bursts of sleep though. A max of fifteen minutes. But they kept her going, kept her awake enough to scan the surroundings below her. She also made note to dot out any landmarks so she could remember her way back, as she really didn’t want to spend days just so she could fly back.

When the sun was almost gone, and the clouds were thin like wisps, Clarke finally spotted something familiar.

She instantly dived.

Thankfully she’d gotten better at controlling her speeds. It didn’t mean that her landing was fairing any better, but she could slow her self down enough so if she did crash it wouldn’t kill her. She had seen the river, and Clarke kept low in the air as she followed it, narrowing her eyes through the dark in an attempt to catch any flash of fur she knew. She trailed along side it, floating through the air. Maybe the wind was feeling apologetic from their last encounter, because it blew just enough to hold her gently in the air.

She was so focused on studying the river for any movement, that she flew over the most obvious place to find her family. She soared over the cave. The moment she realised this her eyes were widening, and her wings worked desperately to spin her around. For a second she tumbled in the air, the adjust in position a little too fast. But it didn’t matter. Because Clarke was swooping for the ground now, was whooping with every bit of energy she had. By the time her feet touched the ground by the mouth of the cave, the entire pack were wide-awake, stumbling out the den to greet her.

Clarke got drowned in a mountain of ecstatic fur.

She tried to cuddle and touch each individual one, her first instinct being Nethon, who was the first one to topple her anyway. Clarke laughed gleefully, her heart expanding at the affection and relief she was being showered in. It took what felt like hours for the pack to calm down enough that Clarke could get to her feet. She asked for some space, which they reluctantly give, and Clarke took a moment or two to retract her wings. The process was not nearly as painful when they come out.

Clarke tiptoed in the cave, sitting herself in her usual spot by Nethon and Sasha. Sasha, who would tease her with every ounce of her breath if she could, draped herself over Clarke’s leg, needing the reassurance that Clarke was well and truly there. Nethon just lied closer against her side like usual, as do the rest of the pack, as they all curl a little tighter around each other. If only to be a reminder that the part of their family who they thought they’d lost was home.

They didn’t pull back the next day either. They all walked around her, brush against her leg, nip her heel, even some of the pups, Seth and Fero, initiate a little play fight with her, which she won much to their dismay. Nethon watched that interaction closely then. And he would’ve smiled at Clarke’s winning if he could.

At the end of the day, the pack all trickle back into the den, again making sure their bodies bump against Clarke in some way. Nethon came in last, and before he and Clarke went in he gently grabbed her shirt with his teeth, tugging her back. Clarke frowned but listened, following him as he led her a little away from the cave. He laid himself down, bobbing his head for Clarke to mimic. She sat down next to him.

 _“Is something wrong?_ ” Clarke asked quietly. Nethon kept staring out onto the trees below them.

‘ _You were gone for a while Clarke._ ’ He blinked, slowly. ‘ _We worried for you.’_

“ _But I’m here now,_ ” Clarke assured. She gave him a smile. “ _You don’t have to worry about me anymore._ ”

Nethon looked over to her, and she saw that there was something heavy in his eyes. She couldn’t tell what. ‘ _Clarke… there is something you must know._ ’

She remained silent in cue for him to go on.

‘ _When you were gone, it made me realise something. I will not be here for much longer.’_

Clarke’s brow furrowed. “ _Are you leaving the pack?”_

‘ _No, I’m not,’_ if a wolf could chuckle he did. ‘ _You remember when we lost Deva and Riso to that bear?’_

“ _I do. I still think about them.”_

He shuffled closer to Clarke, sat up so they were the same height. She let her hand rest in his fur. ‘ _Soon,_ ’ Nethon said. ‘ _Soon, I will be gone like that. I will not be able to come back, even if I wanted to._ ’

Clarke didn’t say anything, just stared at him. There was confusion that glinted in her eyes, before the pain of realisation grew across her face. She blinked. Her heart felt like a branch had jutted straight through.

‘ _I am very old young one. My joints ache and my fur greys, I know you feel the stiffness in my hairs when they should be smooth._ ’

Clarke’s voice was so quiet it was only because he was a wolf he heard her. “ _You can’t go._ ” She whispered.

‘ _I’m not. Not yet. But when I do, I ask that you take care of them. That you become alpha._ ’ He saw her surprise. ‘ _They will look to you anyway. You will easily become one._ ’

“ _But… you’re alpha._ ” Clarke murmured. Nethon turned to her, and for the first time Clarke suddenly saw what he was talking about. She saw how his coat, once flawless, was now fraying, growing in patches. His cheeks were thin; the muscle that packed his shoulders had faded away. It was so obvious now. Nethon was old.

The elder wolf leaned forward, and Clarke instinctually let her forehead fall to meet his. She brought up her hands and wrapped them around his neck.

‘ _I will not be alpha forever._ ’ He whispered. Clarke held him tighter. ‘ _And when I’m not, I need to trust that you’ll take care of our pack._ ’

“ _I will.”_ Clarke whispered back, even if her pained her too. She bobbed her head against his own. “ _I promise._ ”

‘ _Good.’_

Clarke cried that night.

In the morning, Clarke took longer than usual to get up. When her eyes opened, she didn’t move, just stayed still. Stared at the sleeping form of Nethon. Of his slow breaths. He got up a little over an hour later, but Clarke still stayed where she was. Staring at the now empty spot where he had been. And she wondered, she really, _really_ wondered, how long until it was going to be properly empty. How long until…

Surprisingly, it wasn’t Sasha or Nethon that get her out of the den. It’s a presence she hadn’t seen in a while. Clarke reached out to the empty air; let her fingers trail over the stone. She was trying not to cry again when they came. She felt a small gush of air, then the undeniable slap of small feet tapping against the ground.

In the spot where Nethon had been, was now the dove.

Clarke’s grin was so wide it hurt.

She instantly sat up, pulling the dove toward her till it was squashed into the crook of her neck, her cheek pressed tight against its feathers. The bird didn’t mind. In fact it purred, its little chest vibrating against Clarke. She had never been so happy to see a bird before. Clarke smiled into its feathers.

“ _You would’ve been proud, I flew for days without stopping._ ” She said.

The dove was still purring. ‘ _I’m more proud you made it home._ ’

“ _Really?_ ” Clarke finally released the bird from its capture, but it still stayed perched on her hand. It leant forward and bumped its beak with her nose.

‘ _Really._ ’

-

The rest of the month went by relatively quick.

It took around two weeks for the pack to finally ease up around Clarke’s presence, to not panic whenever she went missing for a minute because she needed to pee. But eventually they do fall back to their usual state, Clarke going on the hunts once more and still practicing flying with the dove throughout the days. Except, there are a few different things now as well. Like that fact that Clarke made a dagger.

She spent hours searching the river, the cave, even the trees, for the perfect type of rock. When she found the one she thought was best she spent even longer trying sharpen it, testing it against different materials. She found out it worked best against stone. She did the things her mother had told her, learning that they’re a lot harder in the real world. But she pushed through, like she always did, managing to create a dagger with a wooden handle, she’d gotten a painful amount of splinters from that, and using thin strips of vines to act as a string.

She made fires, but for some reason the pack was scared of them, so she refrained from doing so in their presence. Clarke found she liked fire, liked how it gave off heat and danced in the dark. Sometimes, she’d sneak off in the middle of the night; creep just a little ways out. She’d assemble a little pile of sticks, furiously rub for friction with her tinder and watched as the flames slowly grow. She’d spend hours just observing it. Sometimes, Sasha would trundle up by her side, sit down and watch it with her. For some reason the blonde wolf wasn’t afraid like the others, and Clarke was thankful that she had someone to lean against, and eventually fall asleep against, as her eyelids lost their battle in trying to stay awake. The glow of the fire dancing across her cheek during the night.

Like promised, at the end of the month Clarke flew off and met with her Mum.

It was only for a day, sometimes two if she slept over. Nethon grew uneasy whenever she did it, and though he fussed over her relentlessly to make sure that she was safe and ready for the journey too and from, he didn’t try to stop her, even if Clarke could see that he very much wanted to. He wouldn’t say a thing, because it was Clarke’s mother. And it wouldn’t be fair for him to restrict her for seeing just because he was worried she could get lost again.

Most of the time Clarke spends with her Mum is spent learning. Sure, they do fun stuff too, like watching a movie together or attempting to bake a cake. But the majority is spent by Abby teaching Clarke. The basics of math and science, making her pack worksheets in her bag for her to complete that week, lending her a couple books her to read. And, you know, the more fun things.

Like learning how to shoot.

She took her to a shooting range for that, and Clarke had a blast. Her Mum wasn’t exactly happy that Clarke was so giddy over it, eagerly listening to her instructions and, after somehow understanding how guns work and how to reload, clock, aim, and far too quick for Abby’s liking, shoot.

She’s only a little surprise to find that Clarke was a good shot.

Abby didn’t her let keep a gun though, instead telling her that she was only taught in the case of an emergency. Guns are powerful, and could easily kill, and while pressing a trigger may be easy; killing wasn’t. On Clarke’s next visit, it’s a bow they use time. Clarke learned how to handle and fire, as well as how to build a makeshift bow and arrows. Clarke enjoyed herself immensely on these trips, even the times when they didn’t do anything exciting. When they’d just lie on the couch, her mother’s arms held tightly around her. It’s an indescribable feeling Clarke got in those moments. Like someone had set her heart on fire in the best possible way.

Every time she came back from the visits, she was always smiling, her eyes always lighter and brighter than they were before she left.

But like everything nothing good lasts forever.

It happened on the eleventh trip. Clarke had been counting. It all started off the same; the same nervousness in Nethon’s eye as she took off, the same winds that slipped through feathers, the same smile that her Mum always got when she spotted her. Nothing was different, nothing _seemed_ different.

But the moment she landed, suddenly it was.

Abby realised it a second too late too. How when Clarke landed and her daughter jumped to embrace her, that there was an odd quietness compared to the usual background noise you’d expect in an apartment building. Especially from the university student downstairs whose favourite hobby was to drown themselves in music at any point during the day. Or night. But not even they were making noise, which was weird. Abby pulled out of the hug, stepping forward and leaning over the veranda. She froze when she saw it. The car, the soldiers piling out, the man and woman clad in that black uniform with rifles aimed right at their-

“Clarke get out!” Abby snapped, grabbing her shoulders and hauling her back. At being finally spotted the mountain men gave up on their stealth, opening fire. The bullets just missed Clarke. Though Abby had pulled her back, when Clarke saw what was happening it was her who took control of the situation, spreading her wings. She clutched her mother’s hand, sprinting with her into her bedroom. When they were in Clarke rushed over to the window, pulling it open with a grunt. She looked over to her frozen Mum.

“Come on! We have to go!” The words seemed to snap her out of it, because she was nodding her head and stumbling over to her. Clarke pushed the window up higher, adjusting herself so she was sitting on the windowsill, facing inwards. They both jumped when they heard the door crash open. “Grab onto me!” Clarke hissed. Abby did, and the moment her hands were on her daughter Clarke leaned back and let herself fall out the window, her mother with her. Abby almost screamed, but just as they were about to smash into the cold hard pavement – Clarke’s wings were shooting out and they gliding inches above the ground. Clarke pumped her wings harder, giving them height. They wouldn’t have long before the mountain men would realise where they were, so right now speed was she had. She held her mother, gritting her teeth because of her weight, not letting herself concentrate on anything but moving up as quickly as they could. Abby was simultaneously terrified and in awe, her urges somewhere between wanting desperately to be back on the ground and to go higher, to see the world below her in a way she’d only dreamed.

They escaped the mountain men.

Barely.

Clarke flew halfway home, gliding back down toward the earth and landing, surprisingly well, with her Mum on the dirt ground. They were still in a forest, the river flowing next to them. Clarke noticed that one of the bullets had nicked Abby’s arm, and on instinct she walked over to her and tugging her arm forward. Abby frowned, pulling her arm back but Clarke wouldn’t let her. Eventually Abby just gave in and watched Clarke curiously. Clarke wrapped her hand around the wound in her arm, closed her eyes and called the warmth to her chest. She healed the wound.

When she was done Abby looked up at her with wide eyes. She opened her mouth, not managing to make anything come out. She shook her head. “You… you can heal,” she finally said, Clarke answering with a smile.

“I can.” She bobbed her head.

“We didn’t…” she swallowed, hard. “I didn’t know if you’d inherent the ability.”

Clarke’s smile wavered then, but Abby offered a grin of her own.

“I’m proud.” She simply said.

Clarke’s eyes shone.

They talked a little while more before they both knew they’d wasted too much time. Clarke offered to fly her somewhere, but her mother had insisted she’d be fine and that it was more dangerous if she did, so she reluctantly let her go on her own. Her Mum had told her one last thing before she left, and it broke Clarke’s heart hear it. It hurt even more for Abby to say it.

They couldn’t see each other again. A part of Clarke had been expecting it, but the younger naïve part took the words like a blow to the gut. Clarke blinked the tears out of her eyes, not allowing herself to cry. She couldn’t cry. She had to be strong.

They hugged one last time. Now, almost a year since Clarke had found her Mum, does she do what she did on that very first day. Trace her face with her eyes, note the freckles on her cheeks, work out the shade of brown of her iris. Abby leant forward and pressed a kiss to her daughter’s head. She hadn’t done it as much as she should have, as there was this guilt that put her off it, but now she was regretting every instance where she had held back. Hating every opportunity she had missed to bond with her daughter, and not just prepare her. She finally said the words she had wanted to say every time Clarke had visited, but had chickened out on.

“I love you.” She whispered.

Clarke smiled. “I love you too.”

And with those words her Mum pulled back, gave her one last glance, and walked away.

Getting home took longer than it should, but only because Clarke dragged her steps. She could barely think really. Her mind felt like static. She’d made the mistake of getting comfortable, of fully enjoying her Mum’s presence, of remembering what it was. She’d made the mistake of making memories; of hugging her Mum at every chance she could, of laughing at her terrible jokes and taking everything that she tried to teach her to heart.

She’d made the mistake to love.

She broke down several times on her journey back. Collapsed to the ground with rasps in her throat, pounded her fists against the trees. The oak wouldn’t budge, merely let her hit it with sad eyes, multi-coloured birds singing mourning songs in the branches for her. When she made it back to the den, forcing herself to climb the hill, she staggered into the cave with red eyes and wet cheeks, Sasha rushing for her the moment she saw her.

Nethon and a few of the pups joined her sitting on the ground, and Clarke told them what happened. She told them how she’d finally found the thing she had lost, only for it to be ripped from her grasp the moment she had it. Sasha shuffled close; let her head rest on Clarke’s thigh. Clarke gratefully leaned over her, burying her head into Sasha’s paling fur. The pups, though sympathetic, didn’t know what to do, and soon were jumping up to their paws and racing out, trying to think of ways to cheer Clarke up. Nethon padded over to Clarke’s side.

‘ _I’m sorry Clarke._ ’ He said, nudging her cheek with his nose. Clarke smiled, more of a tug at the lips.

“ _I know._ ”

The trio stayed together till the sun disappeared from the sky.

The rest of the pack came back from a hunt then, dragging a deer by its hooves with their teeth. They all eat, but Clarke eats slowly and the food tastes even blander than it’s ever tasted. She realised it was because whenever she’d gone to her Mum’s, she’d cover their food in spices. Her lungs curled in on themselves until she couldn’t breathe. But her face didn’t change from the same broken expression it had been since she’d left her Mum.

Like usual, after dinner the pack settle in for the night. Lining themselves up against one another for warmth and stretching their tight muscles with long yawns. Clarke like always slept where she always slept, situated between Nethon and Sasha. The dove wasn’t here today. She tried sleeping. Tried shutting her eyes and forcing her mind to relax. But it didn’t work, and instead she just lied motionlessly for hours wondering what could have been, what would’ve happened if the Mountain Men hadn’t found them.

At around one in the morning, Clarke gave up.

She wasn’t going to get any sleep. That was clear. She let her eyes flutter open, blinking as she adjusted to darkness. Carefully, she pulled herself up, goose bumps lining her arms once she tiptoed over to the mouth of the cave, the early morning cool air making her shiver. Clarke snuck over to where she normally lit her small fires, but this time she brought a piece of meat with her from the leftover deer.

Making sure that no one was up, Clarke set to work lighting the fire. When that was done, she gently laid the slice of meat over the flames, watching it smother and crackle its defiance at being covered. Clarke sat in the darkness not making a sound. She’d cooked some things with her Mum, using a thing called an oven and a stove. Clarke enjoyed it, a lot actually, and her Mum was more than happy to show her how to work it out and some simple recipes for her to try. Clarke smiled at the memory.

But it soon fell.

She was staring at the cooking meat so intensely she jumped when something suddenly brushed against her. She just held in her yelp, and she was exceedingly glad she did because it was Sasha who was grinning at her through the dark. The blonde wolf sat itself by her side, lying down while staring at the flames. Sasha let out a quiet pleased growl.

‘ _The fire is warm._ ’

“ _That’s what fires do_ ,” Clarke explained, lifting her hand and scratching just behind Sasha’s ear. “ _They keep you warm. And they give you light._ ”

Sasha hummed. ‘ _They are very bright. Also very pretty._ ’

Clarke couldn’t help but smile. Just a little one. The pair sat by the fire, Sasha letting her head rest on her paws. She could smell the meat this close, not that she needed to be close, and it smelled delicious. If she hadn’t have just eaten a few hours ago, she’d probably be risking the hot flames and diving to grab the meat. She’d the learnt that fire burned when she stepped in it in an attempt to help Clarke put it out one time. Bad idea, she now knows.

After a while Clarke leant forward, her legs now stretched out before, and flipped the meat with the use of another stick. The meat wasn’t black as coal, so she’d figured she’d done a good job. When she felt like it was finally cooked enough, she used a bigger stick to nudge out of the flames and towards her. It fell onto the stone ground, and Clarke took the opportunity to pick up the piece with her fingers. She dropped it almost instantly, not realising how hot it was.

Sasha was grinning devilishly at her.

“ _Don’t you dare say anything,_ ” Clarke warned, lowering her voice. But the wolf’s grin just grew.

‘ _I’m not saying a thing._ ’ She replied.

Clarke scoffed, shaking her head. “ _I can see it in your eye,_ ” she mumbled under her breath. She picked up the piece of meat again; able to hold it now that she knew it was warm, but furrowed her brow when she looked over to Sasha. Her frown soon went away though and was replaced with a wide, wide smile. “ _Hungry, are we?_ ” Clarke teased, dangling the meat in front of Sasha. The wolf glared at her, but didn’t deny the claim. Clarke gave in with a melodramatic sigh. “ _Fine, here you go_.”

Clarke bit the piece of meat in half, keeping one and giving the other to Sasha. Sasha eagerly gobbled down the meat, hardly even chewing. Clarke took her time though. Savoured the texture, or more, the memories that clung with it. The steak her Mum had made for her, the pork chop she’d let her flip, because she was too busy washing the dishes behind her. When Clarke eventually swallowed the morsel, she was crying.

Sasha sat up, pressed her body up against Clarke’s side. She lied down, but pushed her head up so it rested on Clarke’s leg.

‘ _Hold on to me,_ ’ she gently instructed. Clarke let out a sob that she failed to stop but nodded her head. She threaded her small hands through Sasha’s greying fur. ‘ _You can cry. It is okay. I am not leaving._ ’

Clarke had been fighting it, but she didn’t want to anymore. There was this feeling in her chest she’d been feeling for the entire day, something she’d shied away from any moment she’d gotten close, but now, now Clarke finally addressed it. And it shook her with how intense it was. Clarke curled in on herself, but instead of rolling into a ball instead she found Sasha’s head, waiting to be pressed with hers. She did.

‘ _I’m sorry she is gone Clarke. But remember that though she is gone, she is still with you. She lies with your heart. Every memory, every moment you have with her she is there, living with you, breathing with you – loving you, with all she has._ ’ Clarke forced herself to lift her head, to look Sasha in the eye. Sasha, who howls in delight when she crashes into the ground. Sasha, who races her just to rub it in her face that she won. Sasha, her sister who nips at her heels when she’s not paying attention and trips her up if she can. Sasha, who had found her in the middle of night, with a fire burning that _should_ scare her, and who instead sat down with her.

Sasha raised her head, and they locked sights.

‘ _She may be gone Clarke, but she is not lost._ ’ She whispered. And despite everything, despite the waves of pain that echoed through her from her heart and despite the tears that bled onto her cheeks; Clarke smiled.

And it’s the purest, most broken smile Sasha had ever seen.

-

Sasha died when Clarke turns thirteen.

-

Nethon passes away the following year.

-

She did as Nethon had asked her, leading the pack. Nethon had died the same year that Vora had had a litter, most of the Nethon’s pups gone now and making their own packs. It was only Seth and Vora who had stayed with the pack; a few other wolves had joined in the past two years that Clarke had tried to get to know. They were still a little uneasy around her. Being a human and all.

She helped raised the new pups like she did with Nethon’s. There are six of them, and most of them don’t really spare her second glance as they grow up. Clarke hadn’t been paying nearly as much attention with them as she had the last time she’d delt with pups, but it wasn’t really her fault.

She’d lost most of her family now.

Sasha’s death was hard. Nethon’s so close was even harder. Clarke knew she had a father, her Mum told her and shown photos, and Clarke had recongised him. But losing Nethon was different. Jake, Jake she knew, but on a more subconscious level. While Nethon she knew like the back of her hand. Nethon had raised her, had protected her, fed her, had never left her side. Nethon was the father she never had.

The world felt dull now. Like the colours weren’t right. Vora noticed, Seth too, having known Clarke their entire lives. They tried helping her, tried to cheer her up, but nothing seemed work. Clarke was fifteen, and she went through the year without really noticing it went by.

Clarke didn’t spend a lot of her time with the pack anymore. She spent the majority out running, or flying so high that she couldn’t breathe and her wings ached. She slept during the day and during the night, depending on what she was feeling. The only consistent thing she did with the pack was help with the pups, as even if her heart felt like it had been ripped out, they had Nethon’s blood in them. So she made sure they were always fed, made sure none of them stumbled out into the outside world till they were ready.

She didn’t play with them like she used to with the old pups. And most of them gave her distance because of it.

Except for one of them.

He was the last one to be born, his fur brown, verging on blonde like Sasha’s. Every time she saw it she’d be reminded, and it made her very soul twinge. Despite Clarke’s reluctance to spend time with the pack and instead be off on her own, he always sought her out. He always ran up to her yapping when she’d appear at the end of the day, or run around in ecstatic circles when she’d appear in the mornings after being out all night. Clarke figured he’d grow out of it, but the pup never did, even when he turned one and started hunting with the pack.

He always wanted to hunt with her.

Clarke would shake her head at him. “ _I do it different,_ ” she’d say. “ _I don’t hunt like how you’re meant to. I track and I shoot the deer with my bow._ ”

But the pup didn’t care, just looking up to her with those wide hopeful eyes. Clarke would scoff, but she didn’t tell him off when he trailed with her on hunts anyway. The older the pups grew, the more they play fought with each other, testing who was best. Who could be alpha. Clarke would watch every now again, and she noticed that every time the pup that hung around her fought it would lose.

Clarke had been avoiding getting involved with the pack deliberately. She didn’t want to lose anyone else, so she wasn’t going to get closer to anyone else. She did try to get involved at the start, but the pack just didn’t feel like it did without Nethon and Sasha. Sheila had passed too, going with Sasha, and it left Clarke with just herself. All the people she’d go to when she was hurting were gone.

One time, the pup that had taken a liking to Clarke got injured a little badly in a play fight. Clarke had been watching, mostly out of boredom, but for some reason when she had seen the dive at his neck and the fangs that pressed in a little too hard, a burst of anger and worry had washed over her. It surprised her, because she hadn’t really felt anything since Nethon’s and Sasha’s death, but now she couldn’t stop herself as she rushed over to the pups side. She put her hands over his neck without a second thought, healing him like it was second nature.

When the pup realised just who had helped, he was ecstatic to say the least.

Clarke had made a decision then.

A decision to teach him.

He gladly accepted her help, and so, for the next few weeks everyday did Clarke spent at least an hour or two showing him how to fight. She taught him all the things that Sasha and Nethon had showed her. And though it hurt, though it forced knives through her heart she pushed through for the pup’s sake. He kept getting thrashed at the start. But the work was paying off, because as the weeks leaned into months, and his body grew and his teeth sharpened, Clarke wasn’t too surprised when he finally won a fight. He didn’t win all of them of course, but no longer was he at the bottom of the pack.

Clarke stayed in the pack for about a year. On her sixteenth birthday, she finalised the decision in her mind. She got up like usual, but just before the pack left to go on a hunt she called them to her. They all came, watching and waiting for whatever she had to say. It was harder than Clarke thought to say it. After all, she’d be tossing and turning over this decision for months, and this _was_ what she wanted right?

Eventually, she got it out.

She was going to leave the pack.

They weren’t too surprised. Only really Vora and Seth tried to talk out of it, but they didn’t try for long when it was obvious this was what Clarke wanted. Clarke may have been absent for pretty much the entire year, but she was something of a mother to them. Had been with them their entire lives. Yet their words had no effect, and in the end they just solemnly bobbed their heads, defeat written heavy in their eyes.

What was strange though, was that when she had packed everything, her bag hoisted over her shoulder, she found that there was one wolf who was adamant on not letting her leave. He’d practically thrown a fit when Clarke told the pack she was leaving, but it took him until he saw her retreating figure until he realised something. That he felt more loyalty to her than to his pack.

The wolf, that pup that had been following Clarke along ever since he could open his eyes, sprinted to catch up to Clarke. Clarke turned to him with raised eyebrows, but said nothing.

When they had been walking for about two hours, and Clarke saw the wolf still hadn’t left her side, she finally gave in.

“ _Alright. I guess your staying then._ ” She sighed. But a small smile played out on her lips. She looked down to the young wolf. “ _So, what’s your name?_ ”

For some reason, she had never asked it. She didn’t want to know the name of pups, didn’t want to grow too attached. But it seemed like Clarke was going to be stuck with this particular wolf, so she’d figured she’d bend the rules a little and just learn his name.

The wolf cast his yellow eyes up at her.

‘ _Aden._ ’

-

(~) Trigedasleng no longer in italics

Lexa couldn’t breathe.

Cage hadn’t been lying. Clarke _was_ an angel. Or part angel. She blinked furiously as if that would change what her eyes were seeing. But it didn’t change, Clarke was still there, her wings were still there, she was still completely, and utterly, _not human_. Where had her wings come from? She’s pretty damn sure she would’ve noticed them before. Lexa shook her head. This wasn’t the time to think about the logistics. No. She had to escape, had to help Clarke.

Okay.

She could do this.

Lexa scanned the tent, but it was the same as it was before. Everything was an inch too far. The only thing different was the chair splayed out in front of her. She could reach it; maybe, if you got enough momentum she could nudge it forward. But then what? She’d have a chair at her feet; it wasn’t exactly do her much good. Shit, she just needed to be out of these goddamn restraints in this goddamn out and be _out_ in that goddamn-

Lexa jumped when she heard her name being called. It was loud, like someone had screamed so hard that their tongue was thrown out of their mouth. But it was also a voice she recognised. She jerked her head to the front, squinting through the gap the open tent flap had made. Clarke’s. It was Clarke’s voice. The blonde was still standing on that slight incline, but the wolves weren’t at her feet anymore, but running into the camp like the wild animals they were. Clarke was frantically looking over the camp, Lexa could see it, and just as Clarke eyes flicked over where she was, Lexa let out a cry back.

“Clarke!” she screamed, and the blonde’s head snapped into her direction. There were screams in the air now, the sound of bullets flying. They locked sights. The relief and simultaneous terror she felt in her gut was overwhelming. Though Clarke was far, too, too far, Lexa saw her nod, and somehow felt the relief in her too. Clarke glanced down behind her, she was too far and there was chaos building in the air that didn’t let her hear or even see really what she said, before she looked back towards her. She nodded again, but a different one. A signal for her to wait. Lexa didn’t know how she understood it.

Lexa tore her gaze off Clarke, which was harder than she thought, focusing back on escaping. Her best bet was the rope restricting her. If she could get that off, then she’d be free. She tested the rope, wriggling her wrist. It was tight. Too tight. Lexa tried to remember all those scenes in the movies she’d watch, when the hero was tied up and they’d get loose the second their opponent wasn’t watching. What had they done with their hands? Hadn’t she seen somewhere where you could dislocate your thumb?

Lexa winced when she jerked her hand a bit too hard, the rope digging into her skin. She could feel how her wrists would be rubbed raw by now. Or at least ringed in red. It didn’t matter though. The pain didn’t matter. She just had to get out, _that_ was what mattered. That was what she was focusing on.

Lexa was halfway through a mental plan on if she could use the chair in some way when someone burst through into the tent. Lexa froze, but soon she was chuckling in disbelief when it wasn’t a someone, but a some _thing_.

“Oh I’ve never been so glad to see you Aden,” Lexa breathed, not giving a damn she was talking to a wolf. Aden briefly brushed her leg in some greeting of hello, before he darted behind her. Lexa frowned, craning her neck. “Aden? What are you doing?”

The wolf’s reply was a huff. Lexa could only guess it to mean ‘shut up’.

“Aden?” she called again, her hand flinching when she felt a wet nose press against it. Lexa’s eyes widened. No, he wasn’t- he wasn’t doing what she thought he was doing was he? How could he know? “Aden! Will you just-“

Aden barked at her, clearly frustrated, when Lexa felt the undeniable sensation of sharp teeth pressing lightly into her wrist. Lexa winced, and she felt the teeth move down, as if adjusting so it wouldn’t hurt. When Aden finally found the right angle so he wouldn’t accidently bite Lexa, he started pulling at the rope with his teeth. Lexa felt herself being pulled back as the wolf tugged at her restraints, a slow growl growing in his throat. On the fifth pull, Aden won the game of tug of war with the rope, and Lexa almost cried out when she felt the rope being ripped off.

She instantly brought her hands in front her, soothing her red wrists. She would have questioned how the wolf had known what to do, but her question was cut off when she heard a sudden burst of screams and yells nearby. Lexa gave Aden one little scratch behind the ear, the only thank you she could give in her time limit, before rushing out of the tent, Aden on her heel.

Lexa froze the second she was out.

It was chaos.

Closest to her was a bear, an actual fucking bear, fighting off four mountain men at once. It lifted itself up to its hind legs, roaring with such intensity that one of the soldiers gave up right there, throwing his gun to the ground and bolting. His teammate yelled after him, cursing him for his cowardice, when the bear’s claws came down on him and his last words were the endings of an insult. None of them had been prepared for a battle; half the soldiers were still stumbling for tents and weapons. But some of the wolves must have realised this too, because Lexa saw two of them crash into a tent and heard the blood-curdling screams from the soldiers after.

Everyone was so caught up in the fight that they hadn’t even noticed the escaped prisoner, Lexa even catching a few of them glance in her direction as they sprinted the length of the camp – and keep running. Something suddenly bumped into her, and thankfully her reflexes kicked in fast enough for her to shove whatever off her before it could it take her down with it to the ground. When she regained her balance, she saw it was a body. The woman was still clutching the slash at her belly, and Lexa hadn’t noticed the soldier who had been stumbling in her direction, clinging onto life until it slipped from her grasp like sand.

It was enough of a wake-up call to get Lexa moving again.

Aden wasn’t at her side as she rushed back into the tent she had been in. She flashed over to the table, hurriedly running her hands over it and pushing things over to find some type of weapon. When there was nothing there she searched the rest of the tent, her lungs almost collapsing in relief at the sight of the black bag in the corner. She dived for it, fumbling for the zip and hastily pulling it open. It was mostly full of uniformed clothes, but as she rustled through her fingers grazed metal, and she pulled out her hand to find a dagger clasped within it. It’d do for now. Lexa got up, when she heard a set of yells right off to the side of her. They were seriously close, but before Lexa could think anything of it a body was crashing through the tent.

The person had dived for the tent knife flicked out, coming in through a hole in the fabric. Lexa was slammed backwards, the body rolling with her at the sheer momentum they had fallen in. Her head pulsed from hitting the ground, but Lexa forced herself to blink and get back up to her feet. The body that had fallen into her was alive, a man with mangled red hair. He was lying face first on the ground, pushing himself up, Lexa only a few metres away in a similar position. They locked eyes.

For a second, no one moved.

Then his eyes narrowed, widening when they realised who she was. Lexa scrambled to get away from him, her hand jerking up to reveal her dagger and hopefully scare him off. But her hand came up empty. He saw it was empty too, how her hand was poised to be holding something. Their eyes fell to the discarded dagger lying between them at the exact same time.

He moved first. Lexa lunged for it a heartbeat later, but she was a moment too slow and he snatched his hands back the instant his fingers curled around the dagger. Lexa rolled back just in time for her to miss a blind swipe at her. She jumped up to her feet, the man not wasting a second to come at her again.

Thing is, Lexa was a fighter. A good one. And it meant that when a particular dive of the dagger slashed her arm, she used the fact that he was leaning towards her to her advantage, grabbing his arm and pulling hard. He fell forward, and Lexa brought her elbow down to smash into his back. He fell to the ground with a groan. She jumped on him, snatching his hands back and ripping the dagger from his grasp. Lexa thought that that had been way too easy, and she suddenly realised why.

His hands were trembling violently; his hair was practically glued to the sides of his face he was sweating so much.

He was terrified.

Lexa paused, still digging her knee into his back. She brought up the knife and pressed it into his throat. It was an awkward angle considering he was lying face down, but Lexa made use of it. “Do you yield?” she hissed.

It was a chance. Lexa knew he knew what it was. She’d chosen the word specifically: do you agree to back down?

He bobbed his head against the grass. Lexa pressed the dagger in harder.

“ _Do you yield?_ ”

“Yes, yes!” he rushed out, the words tripping over themselves. Lexa let the blade push in a little deeper, drawing a drop of blood, before she brought it back to her side.

She got off him, but he didn’t move from where he was.

“Stay there,” she ordered. “You don’t move and I won’t kill you.”

He nodded again, but soon remembered the reaction just then from a non-verbal response. “I will,” he promised.

Lexa clenched her jaw, but left him in the tent.

The camp was still in disarray like before. Instead of letting the turmoil pull her under though Lexa, desperately searching through the panicking crowds and blurs of fur and teeth that dived for any exposed necks, tried to find Clarke. She wasn’t where she had seen her before, and Lexa could only assume she was now mingled with the chaos. She decided to just go for it, so gritting her teeth Lexa joined in on the hell before her.

She made sure to kick and slash at any mountain men who got too close or tried to grab her, Lexa getting saved on more than one occasion by the intervention of a wolf she had never seen before. The first time a soldier had slammed into her and she’d been forced into the ground. He didn’t waste a second climbing on top and wrapping his fingers around her throat, and from the panic in his eye Lexa could tell that at this point he was just attacking anything that wasn’t wearing all black. She struggled against him, but she had next to no strength compared to the brute. When her chest was straining its last breath under the lack of air and she couldn’t even feel her throat anymore – it was then the weight was suddenly thrown off her.

Instantly she was rolling onto all fours and greedily gulping in as much air as she could. She didn’t even question the sudden save. She was just glad she was saved at all. It meant that when she finally found enough oxygen to see the world again, the wolf that had saved her was done with the soldier and now staring at her. It wasn’t a good stare. It was definitely a stare of should-I-kill-you-too and Lexa was already reaching for her lost dagger when the wolf simply barked and darted off. There was too much frenzy to think on it, so Lexa just picked up her dagger again and kept moving.

It had happened a few other times, a save by a wolf. Every time they’d have that little stare, but then they’d run off whenever she took a step toward them. It was strange to say the least. How do you thank a wolf for saving your life?

Lexa kept moving. There was a slight limp her run now, courtesy of a shot to her foot. She would’ve complained, but if she hadn’t have jerked her leg up and kicked at the gun aiming for her than there’d be a bullet in her chest instead. So she clenched her teeth and went with it. She couldn’t tell if there were more or less bodies in the mix now, but there were definitely more on the ground. Wolves and human alike. She’d tripped over one, and she had thrown up not a second later. She tried not to, but her body wasn’t cooperating how she wanted. Thankfully it didn’t last long.

She was searching for Clarke. She’d hear her shouts and her grunts. Lexa didn’t know how she could always tell Clarke’s voice above any others. But anytime she’d follow them it’d just lead her to groaning bodies, all clutching their stomachs and cradling their arms. She had just dodged a burst of flying bullets, dashing for the cover of trees when she finally spotted someone familiar. It was Aden.

The wolf saw her too, rushing for her as quick as he could. Lexa hissed at him when he did, because the person shooting at her now had another target, and Lexa would seriously consider killing them if they killed Aden. Thankfully he stumbled to safety unhurt, though it left Lexa questioning what Gods Aden had been sucking up to. She kept her back pressed tightly against the tree.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Lexa whispered, Aden merely tilting his head at her. Lexa instinctually ducked when another round of bullets came. “Stay close!” she hissed. She reached forward and grabbed him anyway, hugging him tight. When the rain of firing stopped, Lexa glanced around the tree, seeing the solider reloading their gun. They were far, but not too far. She had an idea that came so fast she was going with it the moment it entered her mind. Lexa shoved Aden out of her arms, wildly pointing to the soldier who was still reloading their clip. “Go for her! Run!”

He bolted.

Lexa got out too, sprinting behind him. Obviously Aden was much faster, but the soldier paused when she saw the pair coming at her, confusion giving them precious, precious seconds to reach her. She steeled herself faster than Lexa would have liked, but it was enough. Still running, Lexa recalled all those lessons her Mum had taught her on knife throwing, on all those martial arts lessons she’d made her do, and never had Lexa been more grateful for it. She threw the dagger at the woman. It landed in her knee. She dropped the gun with a cry, and Aden was close enough now to pounce for her.

Lexa couldn’t watch the rest. Instead she let herself fall to the ground briefly, let herself feel the pain of her foot. Adrenaline had numbed most of it, but forcing the pressure of the sprint on it had it aching like hell. Aden appeared back by her side shortly after. Lexa sucked in a sharp breath, squeezing her eyes shut. She let her hand rest on Aden’s back and used him as a support to stand back up. He didn’t mind. When she was up she opened her eyes again.

“You know where Clarke is?” she asked, watching his ears perk up at her name. She tried again. “Clarke. Can you find Clarke?”

He glanced between her and the scene before them. It was still in shambles, but there were fewer bodies in the fray. Well, fewer moving bodies. He let out a sharp bark. Aden gave her one last look before moving again, and Lexa followed him without question. Though he moved fast, she could tell that he was slowing enough for her to keep pace. Lexa was grateful. They forced their way through the crowds, which was mostly just dodging the flying bodies. Everyone was involved now, the fearful had all deserted, and all it left was the fighters and the wolves. They were all in their own little battles, so as long as Lexa and Aden just kept going without stopping they didn’t get pulled into one.

It felt like a century, but really it was only a few minutes until Lexa finally saw her. She was near the edge of the camp, wings fiercely spread out and her eyes even fiercer, raining down blows onto the mountain coming for her. She wasn’t alone either. There were two wolves that fought with her, one black and one the shaggy blonde-brown like Aden. The relief of finding Clarke was dizzying, but Lexa ran on for her anyway. She couldn’t explain it. She just needed to be close, needed to know she was there.

Though Lexa had spotted her, it didn’t mean she was close. There was a painful amount of distance between them, and Lexa cried out because of it, even if she tried to hold the desperate sound in. Clarke heard. Her head jerked in her direction, and for one glorious moment they met sights.

Lexa knew this wasn’t the time to be cliché. Not with bodies dropping around her like flies and blood sprayed over her shirt like paint. No, this really _wasn’t_ the time to say how the world slowed and how sound muted out, how even though Lexa was so many metres away she could still see the fleck of dust in Clarke’s eyes and could somehow hear how heartbeat from so far. It wasn’t the time for Lexa to feel her stomach swoop when Clarke smiled, a small smile of admittance, that Clarke was feeling the exact same thing.

It wasn’t the time, but Lexa felt it anyway.

The moment didn’t last long.

There was a fatal roar from beside her, and the suddenly Clarke wasn’t taking her view but the bear was. It was running, but not to escape or to attack but just simply because… because it wanted to run. Because each thunderous step was answered with a grunt, each pace it gained smearing blood on the grass. It ran, dived for one last mountain man, and the great beast flung itself with its claws stretched and mouth wide, and when it landed on the body below it – it didn’t get back up.

A soldier came by and shot it in the head anyway for good measure, their own forehead streaked in sweat and blood. Lexa could see now that they were one of the few mountain men left standing. He was panting and his steps were staggers, it was clear his strength was minimal. It didn’t mean he didn’t fight back though when Clarke was pouncing for him. She screamed as she did, a broken scream, an angry one that disturbed your very soul with its intensity. They fell to the ground, but the man reacted quick, shoving her off him and landing a few hard-hitting blows.

Lexa was sprinting for him before she knew her legs were moving. Even her aching foot didn’t reach her mind. She could see Clarke fighting now, could see the scars on her arm and tears in her feathers, the way her face was drawn and her eyes burned so much they seemed to glow. She saw Clarke as the soldier reached for the hidden pistol in his boot, as he pulled it out when they were both getting back up to feet. She saw Clarke as he aimed the gun at her-

Someone slammed into her so hard all the air was knocked out of her lungs. Hitting the ground shot waves of pain through her spine, and she was so thrown off by the sudden attack that for a moment the clouds were in double and nothing was in focus. She blinked to bring it back, struggling to get up to her feet when a boot collided into her ribs. She cried out as they cracked. The person snatched her hair tugging and forcing her up so she was sitting on her knees. Her head was jerked back.

Lexa looked up to the terrifying face of Cage.

He had a gun pressing into her throat.

“Well, isn’t it funny seeing you here?” he sneered, though his breath was coming out his pants. Lexa’s was too.

“Taunt all you want Cage,” Lexa breathed. Her lips curled into a dangerous smile. “But you lost.”

His features twisted in a snarl. He still had a grip on her hair, and with balled up fists he ripped his hand back. He kneed her hard in the back as well, and she fell to the ground. Cage was sitting on her the moment she was down. He moved his mouth till it was next to her ear. “Really? You really think that? I may have lost some of my men-“

“They’re _all_ dead,” Lexa spat. He shoved her face into the dirt, but Lexa got the words out anyway. “Or they’ve abandoned you. You have no one.”

“All that matters is that fucking halfbreed. It doesn’t matter who dies. As long as that thing is dead every other death is necessary.”

Lexa laughed into the grass. “You’re a psychopath.”

“Shut up!” he barked. She felt cold metal press into the back of her head. “Even if I can’t kill that halfbreed yet I can kill you. And you’ve certainly made your death worth it. Willingly siding with a halfbreed. You disgust me almost as much I disgust them.”

His voice had last all the calm it had when he had questioned her. Now it was panicked and frenzied, and though it pained her to Lexa bit her tongue. It was obvious something had snapped within him. This was a man who had lost everything, meaning – he had nothing to lose. He was the most dangerous person Lexa had ever met.

He leaned closer, till Lexa could feel his breath on her neck. “You’re almost as bad as that thing. I didn’t want to kill you, but you’ve forced me here. This is your fault.”

“My fault?” Lexa scoffed. She instantly regretted it, because she felt the gun dig harder into her head. She was on very, very fucking thin ice.

“I’ll give you one thing, just one.” Lexa frowned when she felt the weight on top of her lean off. Cage gripped her arm and flipped her. He grasped the neck of her shirt, hauling her up roughly. “Because while I’m about to kill you, I’m a man of honour.”

It physically hurt her that time to not say anything. He must have noticed, because he smiled.

“Last words.” He shoved her up against a tree so hard for a moment the world went white. It came back in time for Lexa feel the gun press between her brow.

Lexa blinked, trying to bring her head back. “Your idea of honour is last words?”

“You want your last words to be a remark like that?” He laughed, a cold one that made your skin scrawl. He cocked the gun. “If that’s what you wish.”

“No, wait, I do.”

He paused.

“I want to have my last words.” Lexa swallowed, hard.

He raised his eyebrow as signal for her to go on. Lexa knew she had seconds now before she was dead.

“To my parents, to my friends and- and especially to Anya. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I pushed you all out. I was scared and hurt and I didn’t know what to do. It was the easiest thing to block everything out. But I’m sorry. I know it hurt you too, and… and I apologise that it did.” She sucked in a shaky breath. Cage kept quiet. “I just want them to know I love them. I always have, and I always will. _Ai hod yu in_.”

Cage nodded when Lexa was done. “I’m surprised. Figured you do something more dramatic.”

Lexa just stared at him.

“Well.” He offered her a smile. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

Lexa surprised him by smiling back.

And the moment he saw it he knew something was wrong.

“Not quite.” Lexa grinned.

He had been so focused on her that he hadn’t noticed anyone else. He hadn’t checked his surroundings, where he was – who was behind him. He spun around in time just for Clarke catch him, and, staring him dead in eye, to rip the gun from his grasp and fling it away. While he was taller than Clarke and older, it was obvious the blatant fear he had for her. As with just Clarke walking forward, he was stumbling backwards. Clarke was in front of Lexa now, Cage scampering on the ground. He raised an arm.

“Please! Don’t hurt me!”

Clarke barred her teeth. She dropped onto him like a stone, pinning his arms. Her wings, which Lexa realised with a start of their beauty, spread out long on her back.

“I’ve lost everything because of you.” She growled. A real, literal growl that had Cage paling to like a sheet.

“Listen I-“

She released one of his arms, but just so she could land a blow to his face. His jaw snapped to the side. “Everything!” she snarled. She reached for a bloodied dagger at her side then, raising it up above him with two hands. She’d adjusted herself so her knees pinned his hands. There wasn’t anything he could do. Cage, for once, was completely and utterly helpless.

Clarke made a move to bring the dagger down, when a hand shot out and stopped her. The blade hovered centimeters over Cage’s chest. He had closed his eyes, expecting the deathblow, but now he opened them hesitantly. Clarke opened her eyes too, following the hand that was gripping her wrist. They found Lexa’s.

“Don’t,” she whispered. A single word, that was all Lexa had said. Clarke was still pushing down with the blade, and Lexa’s arm shook with the effort she was using to hold it up. The air was somehow so tense it was tangible, but also the most freeing and alive it had ever been. Clarke’s eyes glistened.

“Why?”

Her voice was so small it was barely heard.

But Lexa had. “Because it will hurt you. I’ve seen the mountain men you’ve fought just then – you left them alive. You incapacitated them. You didn’t kill, why?”

Clarke didn’t say anything. But Lexa could see.

“That’s why. If you kill him, it’ll kill you too. We can send him to prison. He can rot for the rest of his pathetic life in jail. He can never touch you again. But you have to let him live.”

Clarke was still pushing down with the dagger, and Lexa didn’t know how much longer she could hold it. Clarke blinked; a few tears escaped her eyes.

“Clarke.”

She drew in one last heavy breath.

“Please.”

Clarke shook her head, looked back down at Cage.

Then she let go of the dagger.

-

They sat together just out from the camp on a log.

Cage was bound and gagged in the camp, unconscious so he couldn’t try anything. The man that Lexa had spared at the start she found to be gone when she went to go look for him, but when she checked over the bodies, a process that had her throat closing up and dry heaving, she found he wasn’t amongst the pile. He’d escaped, and Lexa quietly mumbled a prayer that at least he’d make it out safe.

Most of the wolves had died during the fight. Though when she counted how many she was surprised. In total, there were twenty that had come to their aid. Twenty wolves. When she had asked Clarke about it, disbelief clear on her tongue, Clarke had just mumbled that she knew the alphas of the two packs. That she would’ve brought more, but they were the closest. Lexa almost couldn’t believe it, even when she’d seen the bear itself that Clarke had also gone on to tell her that that was a long time favour that she’d never checked in. Apparently she had helped the bear out when she was young, so it had come to help her in return.

The surviving wolves had all left now, spare for Aden, who as always was splayed in front of them napping in the setting sun. Clarke sat next to Lexa, so close that they were touching. There seemed to be an unspoken rule with them now, that since they had both almost died that there was no point in shying away from each other’s touch anymore.

They hadn’t spoken much in the past hour.

Before they had sat down Lexa had found a phone. It was on one of the bodies, and in the end she had to ask Clarke to reach in and grab it for her. She had, but she looked as uncomfortable as Lexa felt. Later, she heard her throwing up in the trees. Lexa used the phone to call the police, told them how she had been kidnapped by a group of men but the camp had been overrun with wolves. It sounded ridiculous, the scene before Lexa’s feet looked even more so, but they took her address and were on their way anyway. They probably thought it was a prank call of some kind. They were in for a surprise.

Lexa had refrained from mentioning Clarke, at her request.

Now they sat on the log. It was far enough that she couldn’t smell the stench of death from there. But it was close enough that they could easily make the distance back if anything was to go wrong. Clarke, who hadn’t spoken for the past hour, leaned up against Lexa.

“So.” Lexa heaved in a deep breath. “Part angel huh?”

Despite herself, Clarke smiled.

“Wasn’t expecting that.”

Her wings were gone now. Lexa had watched her retract them with wide eyes. “What were you expecting?” she mumbled.

“I don’t know,” Lexa answered honestly. “But definitely not that.”

Clarke’s voice was quiet. “Do you hate me?”

Lexa stiffened. Carefully, she moved so Clarke wasn’t leaning on her anymore. Clarke looked up at her confused, but also slightly afraid. Lexa raised her hands; let them rest on both sides of Clarke’s jaw. She made sure she was looking at her in the eye. For a moment or two Lexa forgot what to say, too lost in the blue staring so hopefully back at her. She brushed her thumb over Clarke’s cheek. “I could never hate you.” She whispered. “Why would you think that?”

“It’s what they all do. They try to kill me because of it.” She gripped on of Lexa’s hand with her own, still holding it against her cheek. Lexa’s eyes became fierce.

“They’re wrong.”

Clarke smiled.

They fell back into silence, Lexa reluctantly pulling her hands back to her side. Clarke was sad about it too. Clarke leaned on Lexa’s shoulder once more, but this time Lexa brought an arm around and held Clarke with it, resting her cheek on Clarke’s head. Hesitantly, Lexa’s other hand crept from her lap into Clarke’s, and to her wonderful surprise – she found that Clarke’s was already moving towards hers. When they met they both froze, but then relaxed. They intertwined their fingers.

No one really said anything for another half hour or so. Together they just sat on the log, watched the sun fall from the clouds and the sky darken into a blood orange. Lexa found that she didn’t really need to talk with Clarke. Her presence was enough. Her _touch_ was enough. Lexa was trying to ignore it, the warmth that bubbled in her belly, tried to play off how every now and again Clarke would squeeze her hand, as if in reminder that she was here, _they_ were here, and Lexa would have to pretend like her heart wasn’t unraveling inside in her very chest with emotions she couldn’t name.

Instead, Lexa would squeeze her hand back.

And she wouldn’t see Clarke’s small smile.

The sun was gone by the time someone says anything again. Aden was fast asleep by their feet, and they moved off the log now, instead leaning against it and using it as a backrest. Their position was still the same though. Clarke leaning on Lexa’s shoulder, Lexa holding Clarke; and their hands interlaced in the centre. It was Lexa that talked first.

“What now?”

Clarke opened her mouth, then closed it.

The question hung in the air.

What did happen now? Do they just go back to their respected lives, acting like they never crossed? The mere thought of it had Lexa’s innards recoiling. There was no way she could just leave her, just leave this girl she had found. So what would happen now? Would Clarke go back with her? Would she finally come back into the world she should’ve grown up in; would she, finally, become an actual teenager? Go to school, do the homework, work out a dream to live towards. Was that what she wanted?

Or did she want to stay and pretend that she never met her?

“I don’t know,” Clarke eventually said. She untangled herself out of Lexa grasp, though their hands stayed locked together. “I’ve always been running. I never thought that… that I wouldn’t be. That I’d be safe.”

Lexa wanted nothing more to banish the pain she could see Clarke’s eye to hell. “You know you could… you could come back with me.”

Clarke peered up at her. Lexa couldn’t tell what was on her features.

“I mean, you know, if you want to. Or like, you could just visit. Or something. At least.” Internally, Lexa slapped herself. She hung her head with a self-depreciating chuckle. “Pardon my rambling.”

She felt a gentle finger tip her chin back up. And oh _god_ was Lexa so very gay. “I like your rambling.”

“Yeah?” Lexa mumbled.

“Yeah.”

They were staring at each other again. Lexa couldn’t help it. With Clarke she just felt so exposed, like someone had shoved a hand through her chest and had thrown her heart out onto the ground. And while it was painful and it was terrifying – it was also freeing. There was that word, soulmates or something. Lexa wasn’t a big believer in things like that, but now she was. At least for that word. Because it was the only word that explained it. That explained how a stranger who’d she only known for three days could make her feel like she just had a shitty day but she’d gotten home, and being in her presence was like that relief and happiness that warmed her chest.

 _Home_.

That’s what Clarke was. That’s what Clarke felt like.

How could she lose her home?

Lexa sucked in a shaky breath, the realisation making her head spin. She couldn’t, she just couldn’t watch Clarke walk away. It was so, so, selfish, and she knew that, but she couldn’t find the effort to care. It was simple now. She couldn’t lose Clarke; she _wouldn’t_ lose Clarke.

Surprisingly, Clarke spoke before Lexa could.

“When I first found you…” her voice was so soft that Lexa had to strain herself to hear. Lexa leaned forward so she could, and suddenly Clarke couldn’t hold her gaze anymore. She stared at the grass between them. “When I first found you, you were bleeding out. When you woke up all you had was a nasty looking ankle but it wasn’t just that at the start. When you passed out, your breathing was too slow, and I flew you back home as fast I could. I didn’t even know you but I was terrified anyway.”

 _Soulmates_ , Lexa’s heart screamed like a prisoner rattling its cage. Somehow she kept her mouth shut for Clarke to go on.

“You were nothing but a stranger to me, a stranger I’d seen hesitate when that panther came. And for some reason it just hurt to know that. When I got you back to the cave, I started a big enough fire to keep you warm. I healed your head first, as it was the most dangerous one. But I’d wasted too much time flying, and you were so pale… there was a second. A moment where you stopped breathing.” Clarke finally brought her gaze back up. The blue was glistening, and Lexa squeezed her hand tight to give reassurance. “You died. For… for a heartbeat you were dead. And I know the rules, and I know what I shouldn’t do. Because when I use a heavy amount of my abilities, it messes with the air. The Mountain Men can track big outbursts. It was how they found us.” Clarke blinked, but no tears fell. “I brought you back. I shouldn’t have. But I did.”

Lexa remained silent.

“I continued to heal you in bursts for the next few days. Sometimes you’d come out of it, mumble something. I would’ve healed your leg completely, but I didn’t have enough energy, you’d also think something was wrong, so I didn’t.” When Clarke was done speaking, she did a small smile. It was a nervous smile, the type you get when you’re strengthening yourself for hearing bad news.

Lexa, like Clarke, kept her voice soft. “Why are you telling me this?” It may have sounded accusatory, but her tone suggested something else. Lexa kept her eyes gentle, and saw Clarke slowly unravel before her so carefully, so slowly, that it stopped Lexa’s breathing all together.

“Because I can’t lose you again.”

Lexa stilled.

Can’t. Not won’t.

_Can’t._

“I can’t either.”

That made Clarke grin. It was obvious she tried to fight it off, but the smile must have been as stubborn as her nature, because it spread itself anyway. And with a grin like that; it was impossible for Lexa to stop her own from growing. They fell into silence, but it was so much more than that. They didn’t tear their gazes away this time, didn’t back off when they got this close like they always did. There’s a limit that Lexa lets herself get to. A certain amount of time she’ll let herself get pulled into Clarke’s eyes. But, this time, she didn’t let herself stop.

And oh, she was so close now. All she had to do was lean, lean that little ways in…

To say that her head was spinning would be an understatement.

She did try and stop herself just before. Like a hand bursting out the water just before the waves pulled her under. She tried to stop herself and pull back, because that was always her first instinct with these types of things. Love was a dangerous, dangerous thing, and for so long did Lexa keep it out of her reach with a ten-foot pole. But she failed. It was one of the first times she had. She may have tried to lean out instead of lean in, but it didn’t work.

Lexa was so close she could count Clarke’s individual eyelashes. She was leaning forward too, more instinct than anything it seemed. Lexa couldn’t take it. She couldn’t be this close and just do nothing but stare at her, couldn’t just reign back in her feelings like she always did, she couldn’t just pretend-

She kissed her.

Clarke was surprised, if her still lips meant anything. But quickly she adjusted, her lips hesitantly moving against Lexa’s, as if she was trying to learn how to swim for the first time.

When Clarke kissed back Lexa thought she was going to pass out.

They were a lot softer than Lexa expected, and by the time they finally pulled away, Lexa was breathless and air had never tasted so sweet. She had to blink a couple times to bring her head back. Clarke had to too.

Their mouths were still only breaths apart.

“What was that?” Clarke whispered.

The smile that Lexa felt was so wide it hurt. “That was a kiss.”

“But kisses aren’t like that,” Clarke murmured. Though her eyes were still closed, Lexa could feel Clarke’s frown. “You kiss someone’s head or their cheek.”

“Those are different kisses.” Lexa softly explained.

Clarke opened her eyes, and Lexa must have somehow sensed it, because she opened hers too. “So what was different about that one?”

Lexa closed the distance again, gently pressing her lips against Clarke’s. Just because she could. Clarke’s answer was immediate, and they felt surer than last time, but Lexa begrudgingly pulled herself away.

She realised they were still holding hands.

“You only do these type of kisses with people you… people you like.” It was harder than she thought to say that. She saw Clarke furrow her brows again. She tried explaining it more. “People you have a lot of affection for that…”

Understanding grew on Clarke’s face until there was the shiest smile that Lexa had ever seen on her lips. “Like a mate,” she said.

Lexa blushed. “Yeah something like that,” she mumbled because saying it like that just felt weird. But Clarke’s smile now was the widest she had ever seen, and it was so bright that the happiness on her teeth was almost blinding.

It was Clarke who leaned forward and kissed her again. It caught Lexa by surprise, but she certainly wasn’t objecting to it. Lexa didn’t understand how for someone who didn’t even know what a kiss was to be kissing her like she was now to be possible, but then again she was part angel, so Lexa let the thought pass. The kiss was so light at first, as if they were both afraid that if they pushed a little too hard that reality would come crumbling and they’d be left deserted with the pieces. But then Lexa slipped her tongue in without meaning to and Clarke let a small groan and really that was it for Lexa. She may have been known to be levelheaded and never to indulge impulses, but that was excluding her nature around girls where self-control gets thrown out the window as well as any thoughts of reasoning.

Clarke tried exploring with her tongue too, testing the waters and seeing what worked. She probably could have done anything and Lexa would still be pushing up against her, unable not to bring up her hands and tangle them in her hair. The intensity and the heat grew, like the floodgates of those moments of restraints and wants from the past two days were flushed out. Lexa pushed a little harder. Clarke dug her fingers into her hips. When they both pulled away for air after pushing it to the very limit of not breathing, Clarke was leaning forward and resting her head against Lexa’s own.

“I like you too,” she whispered back. Lexa couldn’t help but laugh.

“Shut up.”

They kissed until they heard the sirens of the cops arriving.

The stars were in the sky by then.

-

Clarke didn’t meet with the police. Lexa had half-headily tried to change her mind, but it was obvious she wasn’t ready. So she easily let it go. Instead Lexa went to go meet with them, and to say that they were surprised at the chaos around them would be an understatement. They questioned her immediately and Lexa explained how she had been camping and had been attacked by a panther, how she had gotten lost in the woods when the Mountain Men here had found her and captured her against her own will, how it was then the wolves suddenly ransacked the place.

They thought she was lying, but she merely she gestured to the numerous bodies of the animals and the ripped throats of the men strewn around them.

They called her parents, who Lexa got to talk with and hearing their voices after everything that had happened had her tearing up the second the call was starting. Even Indra, her seemingly stone-faced Mum, she managed to catch one relieved sob. When Anya finally got a hold of the phone it was a barrage of questions and interrogation, but at the end she heard her sister’s shaky breath. Then, quietly like if she said it too loud the entire world would hear. _I’m glad you’re okay. Also, you’re a complete fucking idiot._

The drive back home wasn’t as painful as she thought it’d be. But the answer to that was simple.

Clarke had agreed she’d come back.

So Lexa went home remembering the feel of her lips against her own, and she couldn’t help but smile wide and probably look like a complete and utter dork. But she didn’t even care. Because Clarke was going to come back, she wasn’t going to lose her. She had chosen to stay with her.

Her heart fluttered in her chest as if it were laughing.

 _‘Soulmates’_ it muttered, shaking its head.

Like it knew all along. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so if you're one of the brave few who powered through this whole thing i tip my hat to you, and as reward i be gift thee for free with 1 (one) internet biscuit!  
> (GST not included)
> 
> In all seriousness though, thank you so so so much for reading my story. if you hated or loved it, i'm just so thankful that you at least gave it a chance. i'll very likely be doing a sequel of clarke going back to school and just the shenanigans of wonderful gay bean lexa trying to teach her angel girlfriend to be human. ive got an actual plot bit planned out too, so if you're interested you can expect that in the future! if you want to bug me more or just chat clexa and writing prompts and ideas or you just need someone to vent to, my tumblr is ur-the-puppy.   
> once again, thank you for reading. have a good one lads. 
> 
> Translations:  
> Ai kei, ai kei - I’m okay, I’m okay  
> Chit kom au? - What happened?  
> En’s ku. - It’s fine.  
> Weda huh? - Weird huh? (sidenote: weda i made up cause there wasn't a word for it)  
> Krei - Very  
> Kefa - Careful  
> Teik em lagen - Take it slowly  
> Nou get yu daun, ai ku. - Stop worrying, I’m fine.  
> Yu chek bilaik skaiglaida - You look like a large bird  
> Taim skaiglaida don branwoda. - If large birds were foolish.  
> Ai hod yu in - I love you
> 
> (im honestly starting to write trigedasleng without having to look it up and like i dont know whether to be proud or to take a minute or two to stare at a wall in shame and reevaluate my life choices)


End file.
